Caleb and Nott in Trostenwald

Grissen’s dawn leaked through the shutters of the Nestled Nook Inn, striping the messy little room in pale light. Caleb Widogast stirred at last after nearly a day of dead sleep, his bruised body slow to obey him, every muscle still remembering the near ten hours of ceaseless strain two nights past, the chase that left him hollowed and shaking. The clash with the gnolls still sat heavy in his bones, though the hours since had blurred into exhaustion and uneasy dreams.

At the foot of the bed, a smaller form shifted under the blankets. Nott the Brave. Her feral little face lay bare, hair mussed, lips parted in a dangerous sort of beauty as she slept. Her body curled tight like a thief trying to vanish into the corner of a world that hated her kind. Except the blankets betrayed her, rising in a broad, unmistakable tent. Her cock strained against the sheets in an enormous arc, a comical, indecent monument to the dawn.

Caleb sat up and checked the floor for his boots.

A throaty groan from Nott as she woke and turned onto her back. She smacked her tent with her palm and hissed. “Bloody hells, why’ve I got a cock like this when I only emptied my balls a few hours ago-” She froze mid-sentence, yellow eyes going wide. She clamped a hand to her mouth and then another over her eyes. A muffled, panicked, “Ahhh, wait, no, no, that’s not- Nott didn’t mean- well she did mean it, but she didn’t mean to say it. Shit. Balls…”

Caleb blinked, blue eyes narrowing. “A few hours ago?”

Nott peeked between her fingers, one eye gleaming with guilt. “…I might’ve stepped out. Just a bit. Only to- uh! -cool off. Not far! Just… Hillward far. Brewery far. Definitely not into anyone’s bed far. Except it was. And she was. And-” She slapped her hands back over her mouth, groaning into them.

Her voice came out cracked, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! You told me to keep it in my pants and I promised, I swore! And I meant it, Caleb, I did! I thought, gods, that gnoll is probably still leaking goblin jizz out her ears, surely I can behave one night, right? But then I couldn’t, because it’s me, and, well, you were sleeping so long…” She trailed off into miserable silence.

“What happened?” Caleb’s expression softened, though his voice stayed stern. He was well aware, too aware, of his friend’s appetites. Nott’s attachment to strong drink had a paradoxical tether to her lusts: a cup or two seemed to pacify her needs, yet a skin too many and a “sexual adventure” was inevitable. What confounded him was how often she found willing partners. A goblin, hated and hunted, and yet somehow tumbling into bed after bed. It was maddening. Dangerous. And if she was caught by the assuredly not willing husband, father, or vengeful brother, there was little to shield her except his presence.

Although getting a front row seat to her pacifying a raging gnoll seemingly hell bent on eating them with her endowment had twigged him to the possibility that there was more going on here.

Exandria was a cabinet of wonders: relics that sang, curses that clung like smoke, artificer trinkets that made the impossible behave. An enchantment that bent desire was not beyond reason. Caleb had entertained the hypothesis like any patient wizard:pheromonal hex? latent blood-rite? a blessing mislaid by some hungry power?

On the road to Trostenwald he’d murmured the syllables of Detect Magic beneath his breath, eyes unfocusing for the telltale sheen, any aura limning her hips, the indecent bulk under her skirts. Nothing. Nott’s heat read as flesh, not sorcery. Which left him with the uneasier verdict: either the world was simply, perversely willing… or whatever moved around her lay beyond the little nets his spells could cast.

Nott responded to his question, unaware of the quick thoughts passing through his ever questing mind, “Well, you were sleeping so long and you know I just got a little bit squiggly and I found a window open for the steam, hops and heat everywhere, and-” She bit her lip, then babbled in a rush. “Her fat husband was rutting atop her for, gods, three grunting minutes, maybe-before he huffed, spilled, and rolled off snoring. Grubby little human dick spent. She didn’t even get to cum once. Just left there with that…pathetic drizzle-” Nott made a face. “Her snatch dirtied and nothing to show for it. So I… helped. Asked. She said please. So I helped her get it out.”

Caleb dragged a hand down his face. “…Audacity. You had sex with the wife of one of the brewers… in the brewery town… while the man lay snoring at your elbow.”

“Ugh, when you say it like that-” Nott snapped, then seized on the oldest diversion she had. With a mean little flourish, she kicked the blanket off her hips and threw it down the bed. “Fine. Be cross at this instead.”

Heat rolled off her like an opened oven. Her cock lay monstrous and slick along her belly, green-brown and glossy, the heavy crown already drooling a bead that crawled through the shallow between her clavicles. It was so thick it looked wrong on her small frame, a tavern-mug’s girth packed into a length that ran up between the soft apples of her breasts and kissed the dip of her throat. Veins knotted the underside in angry ropes, each pulse making it nudge higher, smearing wet across her sternum. Below, her scrotum had slumped with a ponderous finality into the space between her thighs from crotch to knees, the swollen sac spreading wide as if smugly relieved to let the bed carry the weight of its obese twin occupants.

She knew exactly what she was doing, weaponizing her shame like a Color Spray spell. “There,” she said, chin tilted, ears flat, eyes bright with panic and mischief. “Horrible, isn’t it? Disgusting. Stinks of me. You should run.” She tried to cup her breasts around the thick log, but they were far too small to contain it, mere pert mounds, green and freckled, pressed against the monstrous shaft like diminutive hills nestled at the base of a titanic god’s fallen spear.

Caleb exhaled slowly, though the tension in him shifted rather than vanished. The sight of her: naked, green, obscene and yet ****, was an **** on every sense. Against his better judgment, he felt his own flesh stir, a humiliating prickle of need pressing at the front of his trousers. Small compared to the grotesque pillar she flaunted, but insistent all the same. He shifted on the mattress, grateful it was not noticeable, grateful she seemed too consumed with her own display to mark it.

Still, he reached out, steadying himself by laying a hand over her wrist. “I will not run,” he said, voice rougher than intended. His eyes met hers, blue against yellow, trying to anchor both of them. “The day before, you saved me. Again. I only want to keep you safe. Us safe.”

He hesitated, then pressed. “Nott… were you seen?”

Her ears twitched. “...Maybe,” she admitted, voice small. “Couple of guards posted outside the big house. When I climbed out, they saw me. Chased me. Torches, boots, shouting, all of it. But I lost ’em. Slipped into an alley and vanished like a proper thief.” She **** a grin, but it faltered almost instantly.

Caleb’s lips thinned. “Nott…” His tone carried both warning and weariness. “We discussed this. Coming into a larger town, things are different. You cannot go as you please. On the outskirts, on the farms- it was easier. Here, there are eyes. Consequences.”

“I know. I know you’re right. But I can’t help it sometimes, Caleb. The itch gets inside my bones.” Nott hugged her knees to her chest, as though trying to make herself small. But her body refused her. Her cock, already sprawled indecently up the length of her belly, swung with the movement, slapping wetly against her sternum, then thudding sideways across her cheek.

She yelped as the fat crown knocked her jaw, a bead of pre-spill streaking across the freckled bridge of her nose. It was obscene, like a ship’s tiller knocking in the storm, each twitch of her thighs sending it banging about, crowding her face until she had to duck and swat at it like it was a drunken sparrow.

His hand lingered at her wrist, gentling the weight of his words. “It is extremely awkward to ask a friend such things, but… save these trysts for when I am near. If you are caught, I can pull you out. Just as you have for me.”

Her laugh came sharp and bitter, but her eyes softened. “Better together,” she murmured, hiding her shame behind the curl of her body, even as the monstrous shape of her need gave the lie.
Nott groaned as she sat up, reaching out for her mask and wrappings and putting them on haphazardly. She gave her long, obscene cock one last squeeze before swinging her legs over the bed. “All right, all right, time to dress the monster,” she muttered. She bent, green rump pointed toward Caleb, shaking it mockingly as she fumbled with her skirt. “You like that, eh? Goblin ass first thing in the morning.”

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, trying very hard to look at the wall instead of the deliberate sway of her hips. “It is far too early for this,” he muttered in Zemnian.

“Never too early,” Nott sing-songed, then grunted as she wrangled her length down against her belly. “C’mon, soften already, you beast. There we go…finally.” She huffed, strapping the thing flat with practiced efficiency, the bulk of it still evident beneath her skirts. “All right. Hidden. Sort of.”

Caleb shifted in place, his own arousal still rock-hard, straining against his trousers like a traitor. “That is why,” he said dryly, “I did not take my clothes off to sleep.”

Nott cackled behind her mask, fastening the porcelain lips over her own. “Oh, you’re no fun. I always strip down in case you change your mind and decide to fuck me in my sleep.”

He shot her a withering look. “Ja, hilarious.”

“Better than crying about it” Nott chuckled, winding linen around her face, yellow eyes glinting through the narrow gaps. She tied the last strip over her mouth, porcelain mask ready in her hand. “Now, breakfast?”

The smell of cooked meats and watery porridge drifted up through the boards. Caleb’s stomach answered with a low growl. He gathered his satchel, checked for his books, and together they slipped from their room into the stairwell.

Downstairs, the Nestled Nook was already thrumming. The common room bustled with farmers, merchants, and a handful of hungover travelers. Yorda, the barkeep with weathered skin and hair tied in a frazzled knot, darted behind the bar shouting orders while Adelaine, the red-haired maid, scurried past with trays of sausages and mush. The air was a tangle of clattering cutlery, low conversation, and the tuneless twang of two musicians failing to earn coin in the corner.

“Oh, you’re up at last!” Yorda leaned over the bar with a bright, almost breathless grin. “I was wonderin’ when I’d see you down. You must be starving after such a night’s rest, aye?” Her eyes lingered on Nott. “I’ll have somethin’ hot sent right away. Strong, hearty meats to keep you full.”

Nott blinked behind her mask. “Er. Right. Breakfast. Good.” She gave a little half-bow, awkward, then kept moving.

But Adelaine was already at their side, tray forgotten in her hands. “You slept so long!” she gushed, cheeks flushed. “I was half afraid you’d waste away up there. I told Yorda we ought to bring you something to your room, but she said better to let you rest, adventurers need their sleep, aye?” She laughed a little too hard, eyes flicking again to Nott’s hooded face and the faint curve of her body beneath the wrappings.

Nott waved dismissively, ears twitching beneath the hood. “Yes, yes, I sleep long, I drink too much, I’m a mess. Don’t waste your worry on me.”