Goblin Flesh

Goblins are green for a reason. As a scout in charge of border security, this is something you learned through your observations. They're a grass-dwelling species and nothing masks them better than an open field.

Caves? Burrows? That's where they retreat during nightfall. The hunters might linger beyond sunset, but they're much easier to spot in the dark. First few pairs of eyes, you thought you were looking at a mountain lion. They both glow yellow but the hue is different. This is one of those things one learns through experience.

Another thing you learned is they are very impatient. They're quick to release their... frustrations...

You click your tongue. No amount of holding back will fix your bad habit. Then again, all these fancy titles and ridiculous amounts of training and lessons just to listen to goblins slap wet ass meat. The high pitched moaning from the females is bearable, if not a little... you know? But the ungodly screeches and grunts from those ballsack-reeking animals? Yeah, you can't call the males anything but that. They smell like goats during mating season.

The worst thing is that it spreads like a disease. The first sloppy sound turns the entire field into an orgy in less than what it takes a match to burn. And you better watch every single moment of it, because that's your only purpose. To watch goblins fuck.

A moan here, a screech there. Some fuck tune near the berry bush. What's ten times two? Twenty goblins, each wielding a sharp tool, whichever had the decency to keep their loincloth on that is. But either way, what the fuck are you supposed to do? Should you face them, you'd be in deep shit even if these twenty assholes were stripped down to their bones.

Move on. Next patch on the sex safari so the higher-ups have enough jerk off material in their report.

Thinking about it, is it even is a joke at this point? Why would it require such a thorough detailing on the females otherwise? Skin and hair color, length, hip width, breasts size. Are they pointy, are they round, are they this, are they that. God forbid they fuck our citizens to **** if they ever invade.

You exhale in indignation and take one last look at the scene, your eyes lingering on the females a little more than your conscience would allow on better days. You begin to feel like you might've acquired some weird tastes in this profession. No amount of dismissing them as animals can hide your body's instinctive reaction anymore. They have such different shapes and forms that there might be one just for about every taste...

What a fucked up poison these thoughts have become...

You take a steady breath and shackle these distractions for now. In a slow, smooth movement, you shift your weight and begin to slide out of your hiding spot. This is the best time to switch spots as you can get away with some small fuckups, like stepping on a branch or tripping and falling dick-first inside a voluptuous... bed made of the finest materials.

As you retreat, you remain cautious for the first few feet. Confidence builds only a dozen steps away, and you feel safe enough to sling your shortbow over your shoulder and quiver your arrows only after a hundred feet.

Down the dirt path and through the forest, you rest more weight on your steps as you go through today's events in order to prepare the report. Shortly, the exit from the forest halts your train of thoughts. You notice a silhouette in the distance. Spires and the square steps of the city wall cover part of the sky. Wrong direction, of course.

"Eh, fuck it." You wave your duties away with a flick of your hand.

You'll just report it as always. You have enough memories prepared for a week's worth of reports, from the nasty films of saliva that turned the females' tongues into a slide for goblin cock and down to the color of a goblins' insides as they spread their cunts.

"Platoon No.4, position of Scout tasked with Border Security, reporting for duty. Area nine to twelve, numbering 30. Collecting berries in low quantities. Can't qualify as provisions. Also, they have fucked each other silly, sir. Their shapes as many as geometry has to offer, and then some."

Definitely, there will be some follow-up questions. That's what the higher-ups enjoy the most. And you will tell them how the rabid males pinned down unsuspecting females, tearing into their clothing and sinking their fingers into exposed skin. Their long noses inspected every part they had access to, and their tongues licked to the point of bruising. Then the cry of animals resounded all across the field, the soft, feminine voices eventually muffled by the piercing and guttural shouts. Controlled by lust, the males **** themselves beyond what their tool allowed and kept pushing with as much **** as they could muster to reach deeper into the females. They...

Oh, what's that? War? Invasion? No, none of that.

It makes sense if you think about it. What dog sees a bear and says "I'm gonna fuck him up!"? Goblins are fairly intelligent. They create organized groups and can reason with different species through gesticulation. They're bipedal... They resemble humans... Closely enough that it's ethically questionable to fuck them, but not wrong. Part of the mandatory lessons of a scout.

So technically, it's not wrong to say that the theorist is a closet goblin fucker.

...

To your left, a rustle sounds all of a sudden, disrupting your simple deductions and putting a stop to your approach to the town. In a swift motion, you tug the shortbow off your shoulder and ready an arrow into the string, preparing to pull at a moment's notice.

Silence for a few seconds. You stand frozen in place, awaiting any kind of information you can gather from the area you heard the noise in. Then, another rustle, shortly followed by what sounds like a happy squeak. The sound raises alarm as you are too familiar with it. How many could there be?

Your eyebrows furrow involuntarily. Any uncalculated movements will make the bush-dwellers aware of your presence. Pulling the string of the bow might cause the wood to moan. Or... Or you might whistle by accident when breathing due to a dried booger. Anything could happen so better do nothing.

It's a waiting game at this point.

...

In the span of a few moments, you've become certain that you're only dealing with the tonal diversity of a single voice. The voice seems to be feminine. It sounds playful and has a nice melody to it.

And in case that wasn't enough to determine the goblin's gender, the lack of sweaty ballsack fragrance should make you 110% sure.

Come to think of it, what do goblin females smell like? This could serve as good research material, you tell yourself.

You give yourself another moment to mentally prepare, then pull the string of the bow in its entirely in one single motion, without release. The sound is piercing, proven by the pair of ears that stick out from behind the bush. Shortly, the rest of the head reveals itself, and then the torso as the goblin stands. Her pupils shake as they meet the tip of the arrow. Her jaw lays ajar, and her crossed arms release a handful of berries as they drop to her sides. It is as if she lost all strength and resigned herself to certain ****. After all, why would a human spare her?

Unbeknownst to her, you also curse your luck, as well as whatever god decided this would be a good trial for his children. What should've been a quick inspection has now turned an internal struggle.

How is this an animal? A head shorter than your shoulders, abundant in long, silky black hair. Small nose with a noticeable lack of a curve. Typical of female goblins... Wide, beady eyes that hold onto the slightest hope despite the unfavorable situation... And the chest that raises and drops at every labored breath, fighting against the restraints of the strips of leather she uses for a makeshift cover...

Beyond the pity you feel for the girl, releasing that arrow would leave your hands stained with a blood that weighs as much as a human life.

Your heart starts racing. You want to take a better look at her. You know it's dangerous but it's a curiosity that would turn regretful if left unquenched.

And so, you gesture with your readied bow. A slight drop makes it point to the ground in front of you. Once, twice.

Confusion creeps into her fear-struck eyes. Why aren't you hurting her?

"Come here." you order with a neutral tone, gesturing again.

Suddenly, she releases an "Ah!" and takes a hesitant step, then a deep look as if seeking confirmation.

You nod slightly, and her face brightens another bit. She follows up with more steps, big ones this time to match her small frame. Crossing the foliage stretches her loincloth to its limit, as it begins to slide up her legs, somehow stopping before she completely exposes herself. She also doesn't forget to take a small bite of her own lips, perhaps to make sure there is no berry juice, or just to simply wet them.

There she is, standing in front of you, her lips now slick and moist, her cleavage in full display. At this distance, you can see even more details you never knew about, such as the rounded tips of her ears and the rounded rims. You always thought they looked sharper from afar, but now you can't help but think of a green bunny, even chuckling at the picture in your head.

Her ears suddenly perk, but rather than be alarmed by the change in mood, she tilts her head. She seems to know smiling is a good thing but can't figure out why you would be doing that in this situation.

She even has the personality of a bunny. Yes, that is what she is, a green bunny. And God, do you want to touch it. You want to feel her hair, her skin, her lips... Her chest...

The breaths she sends your way smell like berries. Her hair smells like freshly cut grass.

What the fuck is she doing to your head?!

Slowly, you ease the tension in your shoulders and allow the string to slacken.

Are you still afraid? Excited? Anxious? Why is your heart beating so fast?

What is it about her that is causing you to feel this way?

Is she armed?... Have you really fallen for a goblin?

Should you be gentle? Rough? You've seen the girls can take a rough handling, but have any of them been treated gently?