Two Dirty Murder-Hobos Deliberate

Soon enough they made their way back to the Nestled Nook and up to their room.

Caleb lowered himself to the floor so as not to tower over Nott, hands loose between his knees, eyes tired and serious.

She glanced at him and tugged at the first knot in her bindings.

“If this is a lecture,” she said, “my cock gets to breathe through it.”

Caleb let out a long, weary sigh, a sound that carried the weight of the entire disastrous evening."I would not dream of stifling it," he murmured dryly. "But I have been thinking, and everything that happened tonight only furthers that thinking. I imagined perhaps we could come here and find others, people to tag along with for a while, or people who might be useful the way we have been useful to each other. But now I think that is a terrible idea.”

The last binding slipped.

Her soft cock dropped free with a heavy slap against her shin to swing inches above the floorboards. Her sac sagged with it nearly to her knees, heavy with the two huge testicles inside it, each one shifting with a dull weight that made her knees loosen. She spread her legs and let the air reach the raw places where cloth had pressed too long.

“Gods,” she said, voice rough with relief. “That’s better. That’s much better.”

Despite Caleb’s exhaustion and his serious intent, his pale blue eyes snagged, snared helplessly by the sheer, grotesque magnificence of her big, awful, sexy green goblin dick and the pendulous sway of her balls resting between her thighs. It was exactly the lewd distraction she had aimed for. He blinked hard, a traitorous flush of heat creeping up his neck, and forced his gaze back up to her yellow eyes.

“These people are lunatics, Nott. I do not think we can do this. I have changed my mind entirely. I think we should go, except we cannot go now because leaving tonight would make us look guilty.”

She gathered her heavy length in both hands and stepped out of her pants. It dragged awkwardly, warm and alive in her grip. She sat on the edge of the bed with her legs apart, her cock lying thick between her feet, balls resting against her calves.

“You want to leave,” she said.

“Yes. If we could leave tonight, I would say we leave tonight. I think I was too hopeful before. Jester is sweet, but she does things first and realizes they are dangerous later. Beauregard challenges everything that looks at her wrong. Mollymauk is hiding something behind all that color and noise. Fjord may have sense, but he is tied to them.”

“We can’t leave.”

“No. Not without looking guilty.”

“The Watchmaster said stay in town.”

“Yes. We are not locked in the inn like Molly’s people, but if we run now, that difference will not matter.”

Nott picked at the blanket beside her. She had been thinking too, which was never as clean as Caleb’s thinking. Her thoughts came in scraps and habits, in fear and appetite, but sometimes she saw things he missed.

“But the people downstairs being lunatics is why it might work,” she said. “They draw attention.”

“You saw Jester! She screams and makes giant lollipops appear! Beau punches anything that breathes. Molly is bright purple and always has to be the center of attention. Fjord is perfect. He is tall and wide and green. I am short and narrow and green. I can just hide directly behind him. It’s perfect, Caleb. I stay right behind his big, muscular green butt, and I am completely hidden from the law!”

“They leave us free to sort of slink back into the shadows a little bit.”

Caleb sat with that. He looked down at the floorboards, not answering too quickly, which meant the idea had gotten through.

“That is a good point,” he said at last. “I had not thought of it quite that way. But I am not convinced. Being near them may hide us from one kind of trouble and put us closer to another.”

“We give it a day,” Nott said. “If tomorrow is skinky-doodie, we fritter away in the middle of the day. Not tonight, when everyone is watching doors. Tomorrow, when people are tired and thinking about lunch.”

Caleb sighed. “One day. We wait and see.”

Nott nodded, relieved enough to let herself believe that was almost victory.

Then Caleb looked at her with the face that meant there was still something worse coming.

“While we are here,” he said, “please do not sleep with Beauregard or Jester.”

Nott stared at him.

Then she laughed too loudly. “Sleep with them? Caleb, please, Nott does not sleep with her bitches, she…”

“Sleep with them? Caleb, please, Nott does not sleep with her bitches, she gets drunk, panics, sticks her fat goblin cock where it absolutely should not go, pumps them full from these stupid half-ogre breeder-balls, and then apologizes while they’re still leaking.”

She stopped.

The sentence sat there, bad and stupid.

Her ears went hot beneath her hood.

“Oh, gods. No. That was awful. That was a bad goblin sentence. I apologize to women everywhere, and also to bitches, who are noble animals.”

Caleb closed his eyes for a moment.

“In my defense,” she hurried on, because if she stopped she would have to feel the shame properly, “Jess and Beau have been walking around all day being very, very teasing little sluts at me, and Nott is only made of poor decisions. Jess keeps touching me, hugging me, groping me. Beau cornered me next to beer and asked me about pussy. Pussy, Caleb! Can you believe that! What a tramp! She wants my sweet little goblin cunt, and I don’t have one! What am I supposed to do?”

Even as the words tumbled out, her traitorous anatomy reacted to the vivid pictures she was painting in her own head. Just the memory of Jester’s soft, jiggling blue ass brushing against her… paired with the sudden, violent fantasy of prying Beau’s tight, athletic thighs apart to bury her massive shaft deep into a hot, eager pussy… sent a rush of blood straight to her groin. The heavy log of green flesh resting against her calves gave a sluggish, greedy throb. The thick root twitched and began to stiffen, the blunt, veined head slowly dragging itself upward an inch, then two. It was a humiliating, undeniable rise, the beast swelling and hardening right in front of Caleb’s tired eyes, making a complete mockery of her panicked defense.

“Yes, be that as it may,” Caleb said,trying valiantly to ignore the expanding situation between her knees, “this is exactly why I am asking. I have seen enough to know that women sometimes respond to you very strongly, and I have seen how you respond when that happens. But most of the time we leave afterward. These people may not be gone tomorrow.”

“If we stay near them, if we travel with them, if we use them as camouflage, then anything that happens is still there in the morning. Jester does not seem like someone who understands doing things halfway. Beauregard does not seem like someone who lets go once she decides she wants something. I am asking you to think before you act.”

Nott swallowed.

“I can be good.”

He waited.

She scowled. “Good-ish.”

“That is all I am asking.”

Nott shifted on the edge of the bed, her legs spread to accommodate the immense, warm weight resting between them. The heavy log of her curse was still three-quarters of the way to a massive, vein-ridged erection, the fat cockhead weeping a steady drop of thick precum that threatened to hit the floorboards.

"Good-ish," she repeated, her voice dropping into a raspy, miserable whine. "But Caleb, I can't promise that I won't get the itch again."

She didn't need to elaborate on what kind of itch she meant. The towering green shaft gave a sluggish, involuntary throb just to punctuate the point.

Caleb pressed the heels of his hands to his tired eyes. He took a slow, measured breath, drawing on every ounce of patience the Zemnian possessed. He lowered his hands, gave a sharp, deliberate whistle, and patted his thigh.

From the shadows of the room, Frumpkin padded forward, leaping gracefully onto the bed beside Nott.

"You just talk to me," Caleb said, his voice quiet, firm, and brooking absolutely no argument. He scooped the heavy orange tabby up and unceremoniously dumped the fey-spirit directly into Nott's lap, right over the base of her rigid anatomy. "You hold Frumpkin. Just keep your hands full with Frumpkin, okay? Hold my cat, okay?"

Nott grunted softly as the warm, purring weight settled over her lap. It took both her small hands to properly support the fat tabby. Her fingers sank into orange fur instead of tracing the swollen veins of her own cock. It was an infuriatingly effective tactical maneuver.

"All right," she mumbled, burying her porcelain mask briefly in Frumpkin's neck.

"And then this is going to blow over," Caleb continued, pacing a short line across the floorboards, trying to convince himself as much as her. "Because we didn't do anything! We did something good."

"Yea! I didn't do nothing! We just went to a show."

"That's right," Caleb agreed instantly, pointing a finger at her.

"It was a pretty good show," Nott added, her golden eyes unfocusing for a fraction of a second.

Her filthy mind immediately supplied a vivid, high-definition replay of the Knot Sisters wrapping their lithe, skintight bodies around that pole, and Ornna the Fire Fairy shaking her lush, golden-draped ass through the flames. Her massive balls gave a heavy, aching clench beneath Frumpkin's weight, the shaft beneath the cat twitching in eager agreement.

"Up until, you know," she finished weakly, "the living-dead people part."

"But it was a good show, wasn't it?" Caleb offered a small, exhausted half-smile.

"Yeah!" Nott sighed, stroking the cat's ears a little too frantically. She forced her mind back to the grim reality of their situation. "Well, we'll lay low. Should we pretend that we're still friends with these people?"

Caleb stopped pacing. He looked toward the wooden door of their room, listening to the muffled sounds of the tavern below.

"I was going to suggest the same thing," he said smoothly. "In fact, I think we should go downstairs. They're going to be coming back. We don't want to cause a stir with them, either. We just want to leave if that's what we're going to do."

Nott sighed, carefully lifting Frumpkin and setting him on the mattress beside her.

"Right. Time to cage the beast," she grumbled.

Standing up was an immediate physical ordeal. With her endowment still stubbornly mostly hard, wrestling it back into its confines was a chaotic wrestling match of flesh and leather. She grabbed the heavy shaft in both hands, cursing under her breath as she forced the thick, semi-rigid bulk to fold flat against her belly. It fought her the whole way, throbbing indignantly as she hastily cinched the leather strap over her chest to pin it down. She then scraped up her under-apron, scooped her aching, overfull balls into the makeshift hammock, and tied it off with a wince, burying the entire obscene package beneath her trousers and her wool cloak. It left her with a terribly stiff, awkward hunch, but at least she was presentable.

"Don't worry!" Nott squeaked, tugging her hood low and pitching her voice up with a manic, brittle confidence. "I'll turn on the charm."

Caleb stared at her. He thought of the card game, and how one small embarrassment had somehow ended with Nott offering to put her mouth between Jester’s thighs in front of half the table. He thought of how quickly her worst impulses became plans when she was scared, horny, or trying too hard to be liked. He thought of the sheer, unmitigated disaster that was Nott the Brave trying to be charming.

"Okay," Caleb sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his own jacket. "Let's get a drink."

"Thank gods," Nott breathed fervently.

Together, the exhausted wizard and the heavily cursed, desperately uncomfortable goblin slipped out of their room and headed downstairs, bracing themselves for whatever fresh chaos the returning lunatics were about to drag through the tavern doors.