Kill it

The shitty excuse of a gobbo had stuck it's cock into you're only bitch without your permission. It had abandoned it's guard position and put you in danger.

The muscles in your arm flared, not really needing to strain, and you tightened your fingers around the little bastard's skull. First there was a crunch as bones broke, then a pop as skull plates parted and then blood and grey ooze dribbled through your fingers. It felt great. Killing​was always fun.

You dropped the mangled body on the floor and waited for the pack to return.

"Do I need to kill anyone else?" you asked before they even had a chance to react.

Picking one to bully at random, you towered over a cowering goblin, "You? What about you? Kill you?"

The quickest way to deal with any outrage over the **** of a pack mate - not that goblins ever really seemed to care - was to give them something more pressing to worry about. Bullying them was a vital tactic.

The goblin whimpered, afraid for its life, "I live... I live..." It pleaded woefully.

"Follow orders and maybe you will," you snarl at its face. You must be four or five times its size.

The survivors scurried off to deal with the body while you sat back down and relaxed. Your paw would be stained with gobbo blood for a while and this was good.

All bugbears instinctively knew how to keep goblins in check. That wasn't the problem. The problem was you wanted more girls to fuck - ideally a line of them so you could cum without breaking them - but to also need more goblins. Now you had to decide which one to do first and you hated mental problems like that.