Chapter 2625 - The Overlord Harem 1

Chapter 1 - Nitka the Kobold

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You would think being an dark lord would be easy. You only hear of these overlord types standing ominously behind their armies and sitting contemplatively on their thrones for days on end. Maybe I'm the wrong species for it or something because I need to use the fucking bathroom. I need to read a book rather than just stare out the window cursing my enemies. It's not like I need much practice in wielding black magic either; I was kind of born with it. My old wizarding teacher said I was a prodigy, right before I turned his cat into a giant wolf. I was 10 and bored. We all do stupid shit at that age.

Like the magic, being a dark lord just came about all by itself. Some mad mage starts shit with me and learns that I'm naturally gifted at blowing people up with my fingertips. It leaves me with a tower full of magic tomes full of crazy ideas for me to try out, and a lot of monstrous locals living in the area. The place was considered inhospitable by humans, and I can't just have them trying to knock over my tower every damn morning. One at a time, I fixed the problems in the area.

The kobolds consider me the king of the land, and have vowed to serve me. The goblins took one look at me and dropped to their knees, begging me not to kill them. The orcs were a bit more uppity, but one honor duel and one vaporized chief made them "blood-bound" to serve as my army. The dwarves, the trolls, the dark elves beneath the ground... even the dead of this land obey me, with a proper arcane push in the right direction. When you amass that kind of power, people see you as a dark overlord. It's just how it goes, and frankly, that suits me fine.

It's the middle management that's the worst of it. By now, I've learned that a hands-off overlord just has everything fall apart beneath him. For a while, things went great with my whole army of doom. I let them do their own thing, but they always answered to me and did what I asked. But people are irregular. The few skeletons I had running my castle were glorified machines, but I learned that things go wrong when you bring people into them. Someone had to answer when things went wrong.

I got up from my bed and gave a lazy whistle. It was all it took for the servants to hear me.

"LORD WILLIAM!" A skeleton burst into the room, his voice as loud and fearless as thunder. He stood seven feet tall, and was clad in clunky steel armor with a broadsword at his side. He hit his skull on the doorframe as always.

"Marcus, bring me a kobold," I order casually. I pull on the usual dark robe over my comfortable shorts and shirt.

"AT ONCE, SIR!" Marcus kneels briefly and turns to the door, but stops in mid-step. His skull spins around on his spine to face me. "ER... WHICH KOBOLD, SIR? THERE ARE LOTS OF THEM."

I shrug. "Someone important, but not their leader. One who knows what they're doing, and knows common speech." I think about when I last saw the kobolds in person, and their surprisingly attractive women. "A female. And make sure she's..." Don't say cute. Don't say cute. Marcus can't keep his mouth shut, and dark lords don't say cute. "...comely."

"YOUR WILL IS LAW, SIR!" Marcus rushes back out with more clanking of metal and a clunk of his skull on the stone.

He meets me with his catch in the throne room, where I'm waiting patiently in the hooded robe (it's warm out today, so I leave the hood down). There's a wide-eyed female kobold tucked under his arm like a football, facing the wrong direction so that her smooth-scaled butt is poking out at me, her still tail up in the air. It's hard to complain at first; kobolds are generally slender, scaly things, but their women tend to be smoother and significantly curvier around their hips than you'd expect. An almost silky look rather than the jagged scales of their males.

"Set her down, Mark. Carefully. Then you can leave us." The bulky skeleton twirled her around upright and set her down on her feet. He snapped a salute and tromped his way out of the room.

The kobold he set in front of me looked up at me. My throne's not one of those really high ones, it's just that kobolds come in about 3 feet tall and weight about as much as a small dog. They are, incidentally, famously compared to a mix of crocodile and dog. She has a distinct snout and wide, almond-shaped eyes. She wears a loincloth made of some long rag wrapped around her hips, but it mostly just covers her crotch since her tail pokes out from under it, exposing her bubbly ass whenever she turns too far. Her top is similarly amusing, as it's entirely made of a copper chainmail. Her breasts push it out a bit, and little purple nipples poke through the rings at times. She has large, stubby claws that tap on the stone when she walks, mostly used for digging. Her smooth scales are a shade of ocean blue and some stubby horns line the tops of her floppy, backswept ears. And before you ask, I know. Between the breasts and the ears, researchers have debated to no end whether a kobold is a mammal or a reptile.

She looks absolutely unsure what to do with herself. She fiddled her claws together, making this tiny tapping noise to fit her tiny body. She's pretty adorable, frankly. Maybe I've been in this tower too long...

"Did you call him Mark?" She actually speaks up first, and I look up at her. "The skeleton. He's named Mark?"

"Marcus," I say with a nod. "We're on a first name basis. Also he doesn't remember his last name."

"Ohhh. Was he a human?"

"I didn't bring you here to ask about my skeleton," I reply grimly. She shuts up and stiffens up. This involves whipping her tail down to the ground like a third leg, which makes her ass wiggle in a way that's visible from the front. "What happened to the honey?"

"Er... excuse me? Um, excuse me, your highness!" she corrects, clearly overwhelmed. The kobolds explained that they have some kind of supposed bond with the land, so whoever owns it, effectively owns them.

"Every morning, there's honey in my tea. Today there wasn't. The skeletons tell me that the kobolds are in charge of the honey because bees don't attack you. So what happened to the honey?" The way she stares at me, she can't decide whether she's relieved, confused, or extra shocked. "Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. What's your name?"

"Nitka, your highness," she replies. It sounds like there's a lot of tongue work involved so it comes out like a yip. I'd have thought it was a noise if she hadn't used it in a sentence.

"Nik..." I start. I see her squirm like she wants to correct me and I sigh. "Nitkat." Close enough. "What do you do in your village?"

"I'm a fetcher. I'm one of the quickest runners, so I bring messages and tools between the workers." It doesn't sound like the most important job, but practical. She's educated enough to know common though, so maybe it's sort of a cushy job she was given.

"Then if you carry news, you should know what's wrong with the honey gathering, right?" Seriously that threw off my entire breakfast today.

She gives me that weird look again as she tilts her head to one side. "It's the season change. We spare the insects to let them spawn and replenish." She giggles rather cutely as she smiles, her muzzle surprisingly flexible and expressive. "It wouldn't do to eat all the bugs, after all."

"...so you don't have the honey because you're not eating the bugs."

"That's right. Oh, that's right, your highness."

I just sigh. "Can you get the honey without eating the bees?"

You could see her wrack her brain on that one. "Well, yes. I suppose."

"Nitka, I have a very big job for you, and it's very important. I want you to arrange it so that the kobolds gather honey while still doing whatever they do with the bees for the season. They won't be able to sting you because of your scales, right? So there's no harm done."

Nitka's eyes go wide as if "Well don't do that thing" was a genius of an idea. "Y-yes, sir! Lord!"

I wave a hand at her to slow down. "Nitka, the lord thing is getting old fast. Don't worry about it. Sir is fine, if you need to. But Nitka, come here." She trots up to the throne, her tail wiggling with that round bottom of hers. "Can I trust you to make this happen?"

The kobold nods rapidly. "Yes, sir!" she says with a bit more confidence and a big smile. It's probably the biggest duty someone's given her yet.

"Good. Once you get that going, come see me again. And bring your belongings."

"Oh... yes, sir, but can I ask Why?" she asks in her squeaky little voice.

"It's become very apparent to me that I'm a bit out of touch with some of my... residents." The whole "kingdom" thing just sort of fell into my lap, and I haven't renamed the land from Grimhold since the last sorcerer that lived here. "I want you to move into my tower as my assistant for dealing with the kobolds. I've got plenty of rooms, so just pick one to sleep in. Ask Marcus if you need anything carried... or Gustav, if it's fragile. He's the little skeleton. ...Nitka, are you alright?"

The kobold was smiling so hard that she was shedding big, runny tears down her cheeks and snout. "Sir, I've never been given such a gift. I can't thank you enough!" She sniffles and her round, oversized nostrils flare. It's just a roof and a vague job, but apparently that's a lot to the little runner. Check my privelage, right?

"It's nothing, really. I'm just giving you new duties..." I start but she shakes her head.

"No, thank you, sir! Kobolds cannot take a gift without repayment in kind. There must be something I could provide for you!" She pulls off her light chainmail shirt, exposing her perky little tits as she offers it to me. I definitely don't have use for armor, and anything I took from her would just clutter up the place. So I decide to speed things up and bring out a spell I've used in the past. It's nothing as advanced as mind control; it's a basic, quick mind link, literally sharing my thoughts with the target. I've used it to intimidate bigger, non-magical men and creatures away by showing them the things I can do and was thinking of doing to them, but it's rather the opposite with Nitka. Her ears wiggle in a way that I think is like a kobold's blushing.

"Oh... so humans do that too," she smiles, flashing her dull little teeth.

"It's something fun we do, yes," I reply cooly, hoping that the robe covers up any anxious erections. She approaches the throne and I part the robe, letting her curious little claws pull down my pants. She lets out this curious little purring noise when she sets her eyes on my hardon, sniffing softly and flicking out a tongue. It wasn't forked like I'd expected, just smooth and long enough to fill her snout. She opens her mouth enough to flick it out again, this time licking over my balls. It send a shiver up my spine, and I know I've definitely been alone up in this tower for too long.

She takes her time, this time out of playfulness rather than fear. She ends up parting her jaws just enough to slip me inside her slick, wet mouth, softly fondling my package between her claws. I moan and lay back, rubbing my hand between her ears as she gives off more cute little squeals and purrs, making her mouth vibrate around me. As her mouth and hands get involved, it becomes clear that there's not really anything especially sharp on a kobold. The studs on her ears, her claws, and even her teeth are hard, but dull. Better suited for digging and durability than slashing and biting. She even seems aware of this as she keeps rolling her tongue to cradle and slither around my shaft, shielding it from her teeth with all that saliva and abundance of tongue.

When she's been sucking for a few minutes, I tug back on her ears. They twitch in my grip and she opens her mouth wide, dripping hungrily with her drool. "You enjoy the taste of men?" I pry, and her ears wiggle once more in my grip and she nods sheepishly, as if talking to me is more difficult than sucking me off. "Well, as a royal attendent, perhaps you'd like some time in the royal bedchambers. You should know where they are if you're to be... attending me."

We're quickly back in the master bedroom. It's a short trip through the halls, and I feel like a tool when I use the secret passage behind the throne. I help her out of her loincloth, despite clearly not needing the assistance. It's just an excuse to grab the plump butt underneath her tial. It's incredibly soft, and her entire skin feels like high-quality leather; firm but more oily and smooth than expected. Her tail lifts and her hips push into my hands, inviting more attention as she moans before she cuts into these little yips. I lift her little body easily onto the bed, and the smooth-scaled monstergirl lifts up her tail invitingly as she lays on all fours. One thing I can verify for all those arguing scholars: her pussy looks perfectly, temptingly mammalian to me. The flesh had a gentle turn from blue to pink just around her labia, and much like her mouth, it's too wet to contain itself. It's good to know that she was as excited for this as I was.

I finish undressing and take her by her big round hips and pull myself into her. The first time I thrust, she's incredibly tight. I can't get half inside her when I seem to meet resistance and get a startled "Eep!" out of her. I instantly ease up, but when I press in a slower, second push, I find it's significantly deeper and smoother. By four, I'm in balls deep, and she's giving long, throaty moans as her claws dig into the sheets to give me some ample resistance to the penetration. Her opening seems very adaptable to take all sizes. I'm not sure if that means kobolds are varied in the size of their manhoods, or if kobolds are somehow evolved for interspecies sex. Either way, her soft insides are soon in a near perfect mold for my cock, and I've never had anyone so perfectly tight and curvy. I end up gripping her tail for extra leverage, and I push in deep enough that she's wailing and drooling over the bedsheets. It turns into a pleased, high-pitched barking noise when she starts to move to match my rhythm.

"Soooo big, sir," Nitka coos between her horny little yips. "So hard!" I rub a hand down her tail and over her back. I swear her twitchy ears tucked back just for me to grab onto and pull. She gave long, horny "AHHHNN!" noises as I fit her perfect cocksleeve of a hole.

"You're willing to serve your king?" I grunt, easing up on her ears a bit to make sure she hears. She tries to nod, but my tight grop on them makes it hard to move her head. Her eyes roll back to try to look at me.

"Yes, sir!" she yelps, and I feel her body twitch as a quick gush of her cum washes over me. Her hole still remains tensed and tight, so it just lubricates the already smooth and snug experience as her juices run down my balls. "Harder! Please, harder!" she begs me breathlessly before breaking into a rapid, shrill plea. "So big so hard can't take iiiiiit! Fuck me right through, master! Drill me deep!" I'm curious who exactly taught her to speak common with language like that, but I can't say I don't like it. I give her a few more grunting thrusts before I finish inside her, and finish hard. It must trigger something in her because I'm still squirting when she returns the favor double. A second orgasm shoots out of her as her pussy widens, emitting a thick and clear fluid over my lap and legs. The flexibility of kobold pussy is the least of my concerns in our afterglow, and I move my grip from her ears to her round little tits. She pants as her tongue rolls out of her long jaws, head rolling until it hangs like she's been fucked silly.

I stay inside her as we both rest, flopping to my side in the messy bed and catching our breaths together. A warm body beside me feels great, and I'm not ready to give it up easily. I gently ease her off of me at last and she flops like a rag doll, still panting and drooling over the bed as she quivers with aftershocks.

"Never had a lover that big, huh?" I lay with my semi-hard cock against her buttocks. I have to smile when I stroke between her ears and she shivers like she might cum again just from that.

"Never a lover," she says as her body comes back under her control, looking back at me over her shoulder. "I never... inside me."

I chuckle and pet her some more, her ears folding down submissively as she accepts the praise. "Well you handled yourself like an expert. I hope we can have this kind of free time in your new position."

The ears wiggle/blush again, and she nods. "Yes... that would be wonderful..." She squirms a bit, sheepishly starting to push herself back up. "I um... suppose I should get to your duties and see about the honey..."

I hold her back, catching her by a breast and easily hugging her back against my bigger body. "There's no hurry. Take your time," I insist, kissing her on the ear. She giggles and her tail slithers around between my legs in a surprisingly exciting sensation.

"As you wish, master, sir."

I sigh as I hold her closer than anyone I've had in what must have been a year. "Since you'll be working so intimately with me... you can call me William. My name is William Peach."

"If I may..."

"Stop it. You may speak freely around me. I'm not going to get anything done with a secretary that doesn't speak to me."

"Ah." The bashful Nitka takes a moment to muster her courage. "It's not a very overlordly name."

"And that's why they call me master instead. Lord William if they're..."

There's a booming pounding at the door. "LORD WILLIAM! YOUR LUNCH HAS BEEN PREPARED!"

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Perhaps you can join me for lunch. The cook always makes too much. Have you ever tried beef?"

"Mostly mole, sir. Elk on special occasions."

I shake my head. "Well, I'm sure you'll enjoy it more than mole. And you've got to keep that soft hips full of meat, after all," I say with a harmless smack at her bottom, just beneath the tail.

"I doubt it will be tastier than my master's meat," Nitka grins, licking her lips as she sits up on that naked, plump booty of hers. I crack a big smile at that, which she shares with a flash of her little fangs. There's something I'd taught myself during my unintentional reign, and I really took it to heart that day. I've learned that when you rule over a massive army, you come to learn that it's the little things. Slaughtering an invading horde is all well and good, but you never stop appreciating a good cup of coffee or a hearty sandwich when you're really hungry. Or, rhetorically speaking, vigorously fucking a horny kobold cutie.

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Chapter 2 - Baruun the orc

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Nitka made for a very pleasant houseguest. The little kobold took up one of the guest bedrooms (where I carefully made sure the previous tenant's booby traps were disabled). It was apparently roomier and cozier than anything she'd ever been in, to a point where she was too excited to sleep during her first night in the castle. I sent a runner to find her some finer clothes (the dwarves knew some traders who would deal with us), since the few laying around were far beyond her size. She did her duties quite eagerly, carrying messages and interpreting for her kind and tending to my needs when there was nothing to be done. I spend the next few evenings with her moaning as she rode my hardon, her soft bottom and curling tail slapping against my hips.

Then some idiot tried to sneak into my land from the Western border. A few days after I'd met Nitka, some treasure-hunting party came poking around after the rumor that my predecessor was dead, or the gold traded by my dwarven subjects, or some shit like that. Who knows? They're dead now. They thought they were sneaky by moving around a flank, with most of the orc tribe at the more obvious entrance of the Southern pass. It's more obvious from up in the tower that orcs spread themselves out, creating several smaller villages to prevent that very thing. Marcus came clanking back into the throne room to report their victory.

"LORD WILLIAM! THE ORC SAVAGES HAVE SLAIN ANOTHER PARTY OF ADVENTURERS! SOME WERE WOUNDED, BUT NONE KILLED!"

"I see. The adventurers?"

"OH NO, MY LORD! THE ADVENTURERS ARE VERY DEAD! ONLY THE BARBARIC ORCS HAD WOUNDED!"

"Ah. Good. Marcus, could you stop calling them savages, please?"

"WHY WOULD THAT BE, M'LORD?"

"One followed you home." Marcus' skull spins all the way around on his spine with a rusty old creak. There was a scarred orc woman behind him, somewhere in her adulthood but the exact age unclear. She has her arms folded, which are as thick as hams and swollen with muscles. Her skin is a muddy shade of green, dark like swamp algae and dotted with scars and tattoos that tended to accumulate on the adults. Two large handaxes are on her hips, and a long, jagged, curving sword across her back. Most of her clothing is assorted bits of metal and leather straps, as if orcs had a scarcity of metal and fabric but an abundance of belts. A skull of some beast is mounted like a belt buckle at the peak of a loose loincloth, centered between broad hips and two thighs that could break open a barrel. Two studded, scratched up pieces of metal were strapped tightly to the front of her full bosom, clearly to protect her heart more than any pretense of comfort. She had full lips that bore thick, sharp tusks when they moved in the right direction. Three gold studs were punched into one of her short but pointed ears, and one more in her slightly raised but stubby nose. The mountain of a woman is topped off by shaggy, coal-black hair tied back in a ponytail, and signs of the rest of her hair being shaved off at the sides.

Marcus' reversed skull nods backwards. "YES, LORD WILLIAM! SHE SAID HAD BUSINESS!"

I sigh and gesture him away. "Thank you, Marcus. Your loyalty is only outdone by your stupidity. Go see that the wounded have what they need." Marcus' skull twisted back into place before he saluted and stomped off again.

"They'll refuse," the orcess finally responds in a soft but rough voice. "They will never show weakness to the walking bone."

I raise my eyebrows at her, the hood down again today. "Is that what they call him? I kind of like it."

"It's not a compliment," she grunts.

"Oh, I didn't think it was." We share a smile, even if hers it a lot more lethal-looking than mine. "So what's your business? I don't want to waste your time, and you definitely don't want to waste mine."

She raises a fist, then thumps it twice on her breast. It's a kind of salute they do, but I don't know if the chesty orc knows how much that bounces her tits around. Then again, if I were leading the orcs (which, you know, I am), I'd try to encourage that kind of behavior too.

"Baruun the slayer, chief," she introduces in her smoky voice. I really do lose track of all my titles sometimes, but I'd apparently earned the title when the local chief challenged me for authority over the land. He was ashes before he'd properly raised his sword. "I must ask for my tarra midur."

I hesitate as she looks at me expectantly. "Baruun... I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm not an orc..."

"You are, chief," she cut off. Bold, but polite for orcs.

"I am?" I ask expectantly.

"You hold the rank of leadership. Orcs are not made by blood but by deeds and rites," she goes on. "Even our newborns are not true orcs until they have been properly initiated."

"Interesting." I'll remember to add it to my resume, but decide quipping right now isn't going to get me anywhere. "Well my point is, I was not raised by orcs. I am not sure what a midur is."

"Tarra midur," she corrects me again. Much more vocal than Nitka. "The war brand that marks my fifty avenging deaths for the clan. It must be granted by the chief himself."

Ah. So their body mutilation rituals. No one's quite sure which land or god created the orcs, but they are clearly invested in fighting and pain as a part of their overall culture. I wave a hand, floating a quill and scrap of paper in front of her. "Shouldn't be a problem. Can you draw it out for me? I can have you in and out in no time."

Baruun seems puzzled by the display of magic, but she does as I ask. She ends up handing me the page with a few thick lines that seemed to slash through a rectangle. Easy enough. "And where does this go? Just wherever I can find the space?"

"By my vaoul, my chief." She catched onto my blank stare quicker this time and raises her big, booted foot onto the arm of my throne, lifting her loincloth. There's a pair of small scars, wave-like lines just beside her green and pink womanhood. Its placement near my chest lets me smell the aroma of fresh sweat and the outdoors radiating off of her thick, slightly opened labia and defined abs.

"I see... very clearly. And will a mark do? Like a tatoo?" I could easily just give her a stamp of the pattern with a few seconds of magic. She shakes her head.

"Only scar. By the chief's hand."

I guess asking Marcus to do it with a branding iron is out of the question, but the proposition is interesting. At least she's showing some loyalty. I had to blast a few orcs who voiced a challenge the first few months I was in charge, so the respect was a welcome change.

"Very well. Not as quick as I'd hoped, but let's get you comfortable." I escort her a short way to one of the open guest rooms. I can only assume the last owner was the mad type that welcomed adventurers to stay the night and sent in magic, assassins, gas in the vents, and that sort of thing, because he has a lot of empty rooms. I have her lay on the bed and strip down, wearing nothing but her various studs and piercings. I find one more in a thick gold one ending in a dull hook that's pierced through one of her dark green nipples. She spreads her legs as I pull a seat in front of her, rubbing my fingers together a moment until they warm up. I focus the heat into a red glow and start to carefully trace my finger along her thick flesh. The skin itself is soft, but even her inner thighs hold more muscle pushing back at me than I have anywhere on my body.

She hisses softly as her flesh sizzled, but I smell her musky pussy more than anything else. It's slow going to get anything deep enough since her skin is thicker and tougher than I expected.I feel her twitch and wince now and then; better than I would deal with it, but clearly not something comfortable. She has his stern but vulnerable expression on her thick features that makes me offer her a little distraction, at least.

"So fifty kills for my clan? That must be a lot."

"It took time. And many battles," Baruun seems to agree. "I forced my way to the front lines to throw myself into my enemies."

"I see. And what did you atone for with these kills?" She hesitates. "You say it was to avenge someone. What happened to them."

Her hand reaches down and rubs her leg muscle a few inches from where I'm working. Her thick, short fingernails rub over the wavy lines I saw first. "Husband. And child. I was not there to protect them from an attack."

"Can't be helped," I try to assure her. "All the strength in the world won't help if you're not where you need to be, and nobody will tell you where that is."

Her brawny body lifts and droops slightly as she breathes a deep sigh. "I need to be there for my clan," she insists, but it sounds like it might have helped a bit. "With these kills, I have proven myself worthy of forgiveness. I am a proper woman again."

"Really? With no dishonor intended, you looked like quite the woman before I heard about any of this."

"The waves, they show my unreliability."

"Sounds a bit harsh to do that to you."

"I asked for them. Even with my redemption, I don't know if a mate will have me again."

I pause to cool down my fingers a little and let her have a moment's rest. "How long did you say you had these?"

"Twenty moons. Two winters," she explained.

"And you're telling me that this brand left you un-matable for two years?" She bites her lip, which makes me wince just from seeing it with those sharp teeth, but she nods. "Poor thing."

"I was unworthy," she insists, but I rub a hand over her crotch. She gasps as I feel her warm, slightly loose pussy lips, brushing them gently with my fingertips. Her various muscles tense and twitch anxiously, but she stays perfectly still.

"I wouldn't think so. You seem loyal and honorable. I could stand to see more orcs like you, Baruun."

"You honor me, chief," she says, but it comes out in a quick, held breath rather than the firm and polite tone she probably intended.

"My pleasure," I assure her. I rub my fingers to indicate I'm ready to move on, but I keep my other hand gently rubbing over her privates. Her breathing grows more deep and intense, and she never protests or whines. If anything, she spreads her legs wider as if to invite me in. It makes her lips part a bit further as her thick leg muscles slightly pull at the surrounding flesh. For all the magic I have, seeing her so willingly vulnerable and submissive makes me stop to readjust my branding finger. It feels like petting a tiger and realizing that it purrs.

I spread her lips with my fingertips and see her big round breasts puff up higher and larger as she breathes deeper. I venture inside with two fingers, and a harsh, husky grunt comes from her a moment later. I hesitate, but she whispers back "Keep going." She's a bit larger inside than I expected from a human, and exceedingly warm. Thick, wet juices offset the heat, and given how thick her hide is, it's hard to think the fire in my fingertips is to blame. Then again, when I lift my fingers from one of the slash marks, she gives this intense, labored breathing that I can't help but consider sexual. It's as if she gains as much arousal from the brand as the fingering, or that they're part of the same act to her: all a part of reclaiming and celebrating her sexuality.

By the time I'm done with the brand, Baruun is sweating and giving off this sort of grateful, labored breathing, as if she proudly just finished running a marathon (she was certainly built like she could, anyway). I snap my fingers to dismiss the heat, meeting her eyes from beyond her mountainous breasts. "You did very well, Baruun," I praise her gently, resting a thumb just next to her singed flesh as a reminder while my fingers still pump rhythmically inside of her. "Very strong, and very brave."

"Thank you, chief," she pants, a hand brushing over her breast before she pulls it back with a guilty expression on her face.

"You're proud of your deeds," I point out to her. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Our tasks are for the tribe," she says, eyes fluttering as I keep teasing her clit. It's hard enough that I could take her pulse on it if I wanted to. "Not for ourselves."

"Well it pleases your chief to see you enjoy yourself," I state calmly, easing my fingers out of her as I admire her powerful but feminine frame. I sit up to remove my robe and slide down my pants, mounting the bigger woman. "And you serve your chief so dutifully, I think you deserve some reward."

Her eyes light up as I slide inside of her. She's looser than expected, as I mentioned, but it's easy to maneuver inside her and rub directly against her clit. Her body vibrates under me with her deep groan. I find her a bit too tall to kiss easily; I hold it deep enough inside her to kiss her full lips, but more often I have to settle for groping and sucking on her big pierced tits. Her swollen nipples are delightfully sensitive, apparently the orcish toughness not universal when it comes to their sex organs. She has this look of her mind being blown when I pinch and pull on her jugs and the piercing golden hook, the dense orbs stretching out just slightly from the pressure put on her tender tips. It makes her grip my arms in her calloused hands, forcing me to hold her this way as she humps harder back against me. My entire body bounces from her thrusts, a lazy wizard not exactly built to mate with a 200+ pound she-orc.

"Seed me, chief," she huffs in a low, husky voice. "Give me strong heirs. Strong sons and mighty daughters all..."

"Earn it," I mutter to her, not so much a power play as it seems to be what she wants to hear. She's craving a strong mate after her years of abstinence, and I move to match her thrusts as she grunts and flexes like she's working every muscle in her body to fuck me harder. I'm balls deep into the big woman when she feels me cum, my fingers digging into her breasts a bit harder. My moan comes right before her high-pitched wail and a gush of her own juices, mixing with mine as she floods her inner walls. She moves like she's in an earthquake, and my arms ache from how hard she squeezes them. That's quickly replaced by an overall crushing sensation as she grabs my back and pulls me into a bearhug, forcing me to keep my dick inside her and my face buried between her breasts like two firm, sweaty pillows.

It's either another testament to orc stamina, or just two years of buildup, but it feels like she orgasms for most of an entire minute. I remember hearing from a drunk farmer that pig orgasms last for half an hour, and the comparison has been made between the beasts and orcs before. I don't quite have the brain cells in order to make the comparison at the time, but she cools down eventually as her thick fingers run through my hair.

"Oh how I missed that," she coos in her chest-rumbling voice, hearing each word vibrate out from behind her breasts.

"Glad to help," I pant, not minding the mild aches and bruising I received in the process. I give some light kisses against her breasts in the afterglow, just beneath some tribal tattoo that followed the curve of her mammary. "Something you'd consider doing again?"

"As my chief commands," Baruun vows dutifully, even while my manhood is stewing in her cum.

"Not because I command it. Do you enjoy it?" This seems to surprise her, but she nods after a second's thought. "Good. Because so did I, and I have a proposition for you."

Baruun moving in is a bit more of a to-do than Nitka was. She has a lot more weapons, trophies (mostly teeth and horns of things), animal skins, and other possessions to bring into the tower. I let her keep the room where we slept together, and she vowed on her life to act as my resident representative to the orcs. When I introduced her to Nitka, Baruun scoffed and dismissed her. Clearly not a threat to her or her mate, I guess.

"You've taken another mate?" Nitka asked me with a puzzled look.

"Something like that. Is that a problem?" I could get another if I had to, but I didn't want Nitka taking a job that would make her upset.

The kobold just shook her cute little head. "No. I'm just surprised you didn't have several wives already." She trots off as I piece together that kobolds are polygamist, and Baruun doesn't seem to care as long as she serves her chief. Good to know.

-x-X-x-

Chapter 3 - None the Goblin

-x-X-x-

Things went smoothly for the next week or so. Nitka was loyal to a fault, if needlessly so. I stopped the little kobold from helping the skeletons in the kitchen and trying to serve me my food. It's cute and all, but I want her treated comfortably and available for any diplomacy issues (that and periodic bedroom visits).

Baruun takes her position a bit more seriously than that. I had one of those traveling merchants trembling and insisting he was only trying to trade on my lands, and Baruun tried to kill him on the spot for disagreeing with my opinion. I called off the orcish concubine, but seriously, I have a reputation to keep. We go to find contracted traders, not the other way around. I think he's still in that dungeon. The minions are pretty good keeping a schedule.

When you oversee (overlord? lord over?) enough people, though, the problems trickle up to you eventually. "MY LORD!"

Nitka squeaked in surprise, though a part of that was from her riding on top of my shaft. I hold onto her to keep her steady in my lap, sighing from my throne. "Yes, Marcus?" She clenches and raises her tail, a sign I'm finding of her enjoying herself, so I tug the tail lightly to keep bouncing her on my dick, if much more slowly.

The burly skeleton salutes hard enough to knock his skull off center, just to force it back on straight with a crack. "THERE IS A GOBLIN WISHING TO SEE YOU, M'LORD!"

"I told you there were no guests while I'm holding court," I remind him, tipping up Nitka's chin. She raises her head and I kiss at her long tongue and snout.

"EXACTLY, SIR! BUT THEY SAID THAT THEY MUST HAVE YOU COME TO SEE THEM!" Fucking skeletons. I'd use the other races if I thought they would be less problematic, but they're easier on the conscience. I'm sending random patrols off to kill and die, and tireless and instantly obedient workers makes scraping potion stains from my clothes and scooping out the stables better off for everyone.

Nitka started panting heavily, and I decide that this one's for her. It's usually a mutual thing, because being an overlord doesn't mean you keep sex slaves, but it's hard to cum with my head on business. She seems too into it to mind. "They can come and see me on business hours. Give me..." I reached around and pinched Nitka's nipples, getting a drawn out whine from her. "About twenty minutes and i can see him."

"THEY, SIR. AND THEY REFUSES TO ENTER THE CASTLE. THEY SAY IT WOULD BE DESECATION AND SAKILAGE." Oh right. The goblins were so terrified of my magic they declared me a god.

"You mean desecration and sacrilege, Marcus," I grunt as I take Nitka's wide hips and hold her steady, driving through her groin over and over to hammer my cockhead on her clitoris and leave her drooling. "Remind me to double check your speech-center later."

"MY APOLOGIES, M'LORD. TWAS THEIR WORDS. NOT MINE. SHALL I THROW MYSELF OFF THE BALCONY FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT, LORD?!"

"No... no, I'm pretty amused right now," I mutter, nibbling on one of Nitka's long ears. She's only making these high, soft breaths like she can't stop panting, her short legs kicking lightly at the air like she's trying to plant her claws into a ground that's not there. It's this cute thing she does when I have her suspended on my dick like this; it's like a dog trying to walk when you hold them just above the ground. "I'll be down in a..."

My kobold advisor suddenly howls and digs her hard little claws into the arms of my throne, chipping a bit of the stone. Her tail raises and clenches around me as she cums, a quick but passionate squirt going across the floor in front of my throne before she spasms and starts to settle back against me, cuddling into my chest.

"I'll be down in a few, Marcus," I mutter as I hold Nitka for a bit of cuddling after. Even dark lords need cuddles.

Goblins are weird. That will never not be a fact. There are barely-related goblins on the opposite side of the world who have never seen the goblins of this continent, and they're still weird. They're kind of a comfort to know they're so consistently... small.

Goblins are very simple, which makes them hard to predict. They live in these mud and stick huts, barely qualifying as shelter at all. It's not because I oppress them or the orcs bully them or anything, they just... like it that way. If they have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, they decide "That's enough" and lay around eating, squabbling and screwing all day until something forces them to stop.

The place is plenty noisy, and easy to find. Apparently, their god/overlord showing up forces them to stop. The loudly babbling bunch stop jabbering and stare at me a while before most of them flop down into prostrating themselves in front of me. Those that don't are still caught up on the staring phase, and sort of catch up at their own pace.

"Your greatness! You bless us with your presence." A shrill voice pipes up and out steps... well, a goblin. They have some variations to their shades, but they're all soft little green people. They don't have near the level of variety that humans do; beady red eyes, big bat-like ears, pointy little noses, and these pieces of clothing made of spare cloth or animal furs. They vary from simple loincloths to smocks or dresses, but I don't think it's a gender marker. I'm not even positive that there's a gender going on, at a glance, since even those with breasts tend to be fairly small and hard to distinguish.

The goblin speaking seems to be wearing a thick, crude little dress that appears to be made out of my old curtains that covers a lot of her body. She carries a long staff about twice her size, compared to a cucumber-green, four-foot figure. Many of them are bald, but she is one of a few with a short, shaggy patch of red hair.

"Hey," I greet casually. "You wanted to see me, I guess?"

"Yes! Yes!" the speaker said happily, waddling around the bowing villagers. "Thank you for come, you amazing very tallness. Come, we can talk in the shrine."

I fill in the gaps before I weave my fingers together, mustering up some basic translation spells to carry myself over to goblinese and start using her native language. "That's fine. Is it something that really involves a long conversation? I do have... godly things that need doing."

"Oh, not long," she says, her voice a little more clear. The scratchiness behind her tone is gone, but the squeaky bit stays, and her Common magically clears up its grammar on its way to my ears. "But important, private business. It must be held with some ceremony." She leads me about the fifty yards to the other side of the village, where she has a broad, flat rock that's kept as tidy as goblins care to (no moss or bones on it, but still dirt and leaves). There's about twenty oddly shaped rocks placed along its edges, not shaped like anything particular but still reeking of ritual.

"Just in here, my goddess," she invites as she steps inside. I bite my tongue at that for now, but she taps her staff on one of the rocks and I feel a ripple of magic. A silence spell, possibly a minor illusion to veil us as well. "There. We have privacy, your great wonder."

"Cool," I nod slightly. "So I guess first... what's your name?"

"None, sir."

"Odd choice, but there you go..."

"Not a choice, sir," the goblin corrects. "Goblins have no names. Identities serve us no good."

I did say they were simple. "Do I call you anything then...? You're what? A shaman? Holy woman?"

She gives me an odd look. "Oh, I am no holy. I only predict the ways of the gods and goddesses the best. And I am no woman. Goblins are unworthy of genders. You can call me what you like." Humble, too. I'd heard guards and soldiers in my younger days talk very highly of having a goblin on their force. They're easily intimidated, but they're fanatical about any job, and have such horrible senses of self-worth compared to the other races that they're quick to volunteer for anything.

"Okay... I guess that brings me to my next question. Why am I a goddess?"

"You wield impossible powers!" the little goblin cleric reminds me. "Clearly you are beyond a common god! You are among the goddesses." She poked her staff at one of the rocks, one that's kind of in the shape of a shriveled squash if you squint. "Biggid is the god of cowards and thieves, and Lika the god of dogs. Toorus is the goddess of shiny things, and Unux the goddess of the sun. The female-looking holy ones are always the strongest, and you are far too powerful to be a god."

"Thanks... I guess," I mutter, brushing some of the old leaves off of my robe. "Look, I'm going to make this easier for us. I'll just call you None, and you're my priestess. Does that work for you?" None stares at me wide-eyed, clutching her staff so hard I think she might break it. "Is... that okay? I'm not familiar with goblin... mortal laws."

"Yes," she squeaks tinily, petrified by my giving her a name, rank, and implied gender when she already thought I was a god(dess). "That's... yes."

I sigh and give a small flourish of my hand, getting a breeze to go by strong enough to push the dirt and debris from what's apparently my shrine. "You said you had a problem. You haven't explained that yet."

She actually sniffs and wipes her nose with her sleeve before blinking out a few tears. "Yes. I'm sorry. I forget myself. Your presence made us restructure our entire pantheon around you. As the goddess, we respect your word and will above all!" She pauses and finally eases up on her staff a bit. "One of the goblins blasphemed and said that you were..." She bit her lip fearfully until I wave a hand. "A 'big jerk, in a big tower.' We wanted to know how best to punish him. Some said to beat him, some to rip him to pieces, some to rip his head off. Fights have broken out about how best to kill him for his words."

Petty, but I like her enthusiasm. The goblins have little besides energy and eagerness on their sides. I scratch at my hair and brush back my hood. "Why didn't you just tell Marcus about this?"

None looks surprised. "I had to ensure that your goddessness heard of it directly! His insult was very dark!" If that's the worst they've got, I'm tempted to introduce the idea of swear words into goblin society just to see what happens. They'd likely stop using real words entirely and just curse. "And we do not speak with the dead. Otherwise it would be bad to eat meat or it could come and haunt us. Bones are for eating, not speaking, my mightiness."

I'm already working on recruiting this girl in my head... or genderless pronoun. I'm not especially familiar with them, and a lot of "they" would feel confusing. Either way, if they won't talk to the skeletons and have their own pantheon about how great I am, having one of them as my next representative sounds like it will be handy. She already has some clout among them, considering that she's the one person in the village who will look me in the eye.

"None," I say carefully, and she twitches like she expects her name to be the power word that blows her up. "You can trust my skeletons. Marcus in particular. He's an idiot, but he's trustworthy and speaks on my behalf. But as long as I'm here... I can do some smiting. I just need to know a thing or two about goblins and how you show who's in charge..."

The guy who called me a jerk is easy: I gather the village around the crude temple, ask None to point him out and turn him into a frog. Despite being a bunch of slimy little green guys, frogs are apparently the lowest (and tastiest) form of life. I at least give him enough time to hop his way out of the village before I point out at them, making everyone flinch.

"Don't fuck with me," I say simply. "So says the goddess." It gets a cheer, just because they don't know how else to respond besides absolute panic. I also give None a firm smack on the ass (it involves a lot of bending over), finding it with a pleasant jiggle to her rubbery skin. The fact that she squeaks but doesn't respond with violence apparently shows that I'm bonded to and dominant with her. "This goblin is None, and she speaks for me. Fucking with her and arguing with her gets you frogged. Got that?"

More cheers. I'm briefly tempted to make them change the name of their town to Poopsville to see if they'd cheer. More than it being petty, it would probably inflate their egos more than anything. "That's all. Get back to being goblins." I give a dismissive gesture and tug on None's ear. "Come on. I'll get you a room."

None laughs and shakes her head. "Goddess William, I have no room. Goblins are worthy of the elements. We must be exposed to embrace it and be true goblins."

"I can meet you halfway. Marcus gave me an idea earlier."

I have to tell None about five different ways that she's allowed to go into my castle without exploding. She's shaky about being under a real ceiling for a while, but I lead her to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Baruun passes us on the way down and looks strangely at the little priestess before looking to me. "New girl," I explain briefly before I take None to her room. It's a lot bigger than she needs, but I think it was one of the formal guest rooms; mostly because of the big open balcony, which would have made sending assassins down from above that much easier. "You can use whatever you like in the room, and ask the skeletons if you need more, but you have the balcony so you're technically outside. ...that's the big window thing... windows are... holes in the wall. Walls are... over there. You're outside because there's sky."

None is off like a shot, poking and pulling at everything in the room. "You have so many possessions, goddess!" she shouts, sniffing the blankets on the bed before digging through and climbing up the various drawers.

"Well, the minions come by twice a day for food, but you can come find them or me if you want anything more. You're my official contact between a goddess and the goblins, so you deserve special treatment."

None is all smiles as she finds the spare sheets in the closet. "May I, my great and tall?" she asked excitedly.

"I can just order you some clothes... but go ahead. It's your room." She gets to work pulling and biting on it to rip it into a rough, floral-patterned garment. She sets it aside to yank off her thick curtain dress, and goblins have no gender be DAMNED! The clothes had been holding back some enormous tits that look like a couple melons in a pair of green potato sacks. There's some sag to them that really shows their weight, lacking Baruun's muscles or Nitka's taut pseudo-reptile build to hold them up. There's some pudge on her, a sight belly hanging from her middle just below where her breasts end. Faint spots mark her skin, particularly her back and her front from neck to cleavage. It gives her a look like a miniature older woman, which given my partners so far makes her a refreshingly feminine shape.

Just in case, I squint to make sure. Definitely a vagina down there. Just another act of cultural self-deprecation on part of the goblins.

"You're very beautiful, None," I point out to her, sitting on the bed. She jumps at my compliment and use of her name, her broad ears flattening against her head.

"For a goblin," she finishes for me.

"For anything. You're quite the woman under all the robes and slime and handicaps of your culture."

"It is how we are," she says, sliding on the new garment. It fits her more like a nightgown than her bulky old dress, and far more flattering. She trots back over to me, and I slide a footstool over to help her climb up onto the bed. "My body is impractical for hunts and fights, so I listen to the gods."

"Well I think it's very pretty, None. You should be proud of it." She twitches again when I call her that, and I rest a hand on her shoulder. Touching she has no problem with, but the name...

"Is your name adequate, None? Should I give you another?" I ask, feeling her shudder. In her thinner dress, I even see her floppy breasts bounce around.

"I am the inadequate. I am not worthy of name, let alone from a goddess," she replied sheepishly. A bloody-red blush goes across her cheeks as she shuffles her feet. "I am not used to... attention. Respect. Gifts. They are not built into our tribe. They are new to me."

"Get used to them," I chuckle. "I sure had to. I wasn't always a goddess, after all. Imagine getting used to that."

She laughs and shakes her head. "I couldn't fathom it. Just this... the name strikes me with such pride and... warmth. It is powerful, my goddess."

"The name is simple. It literally means 'nothing," I remind her. "The fact that I've named you makes you no more beautiful or powerful than you were. If I wanted to imbue you with impossible powers, I would have, but you are plenty capable on your own."

None smiled and breathed a bit heavier. "It makes me FEEL more beautiful," she muttered, looking at her feet again.

I decide to play with her a bit early, taking the tip of her ear and lifting it up. I understand that despite being very sharp of hearing, the ears themselves are strong and very resilient to pain. "None." I whisper her name into her ear like it's a dirty word. She shivers on the spot, clutching the skirts of her dress in her little claws. I slide across the bed on my knees, wrapping my hands around her body. I keep saying her name, gentle but slightly louder as it keeps sending shivers down her spine. I reach around to grope her huge, heavy breasts, lifting the fleshy orbs to feel their weight through her dress. Not satisfied with just that, I take the top of her dress and tear down the center, forcing her to expose more of her cleavage. Even my starting to strip her seems to hit her less than using a proper name on her.

Her breasts really are something else to feel directly. Her nipples are thick and hard, wider than my thumb and with gently bumpy areolas. There's an imperfection to them that draws me in, feeling all over her slick and slightly uneven skin. Her body is oily all over, finding it to have a faint, slightly bitter taste when I kiss down her neck. She moans loudly and leans back as I toy with those big, maternal breasts like a set of oversized stress balls, plying and reshaping them with growing curiosity and lust.

"Thank you," she mutters softly. "Thank you for all this, goddess."

"Don't thank me yet," I chuckle. "It gets better." I lift up her skirts and rub up her thigh, but find what I'm looking for a lot sooner than I expected. Not that I'm exactly looking for this... exact thing.

"None?" I repeat, and she shivers before mewling back.

"Yes, master goddess?"

"What's ah... what's that down there?" I lift up her skirt, confirming that the vagina I saw earlier was still there. Growing from inside of it is an exposed, fleshy, featureless pink growth that looks about 4 inches long and soaking wet.

"It is my pooch," she says a bit sheepishly. "It... it come out when I'm in heat, goddess. Have... I wronged you?"

I'm kind of in too deep to back out on her in any sense, and I really do know nothing on goblin sex organs. Maybe the gender thing comes from being hermaphrodites, though it doesn't look to have any sort of opening at the tip. Maybe None is just a weird one. Maybe she's like certain breeds of mammals and just has an enormous clitoris. I gently press it with two of my fingers, and she gasps and shudders worse than ever. Whatever it is, there's no question that it's a sex organ.

"On your back, None," I advise as I fully remove her dress. "I want to try something I think you'll enjoy." She flops back obediently, and I slip off my robe and pants to discard with her torn dress. She eyes my erection with quiet admiration, maybe assuming it's my own "pooch" that's about twice the size of hers. I feel around her pussy lips, testingly spreading them and finding her to be a relatively spacious fit for her size.

Bracing myself on her big squishy breasts, I start to slide into her. I'm not even inside when she's gasping, the edge of my erection brushing against her pooch. She trembles but holds onto the bedsheets, watching me wide-eyed with an expression of what I can only call lusty terror. She was horny and afraid and confused, and she wanted more, giving off needy little mewls every few seconds. By the time my cockhead barely touches her pussy lips, she actually shakes and cums all over it.

My idea about it being her clit seems supported since her juices all come from inside her pussy. It coats the head of my dick and her pooch, her cum oily and smooth like the rest of her body's secretions (as well as faintly green). Her pooch throbs and flexes in her afterglow, panting heavily as her huge boobs balloon up and wobble back down beneath my hands. I rest there patiently and let her catch her breath, cock pressed slightly against her warm and oily pussy.

"Do you want more?" I ask with an amused smirk.

"There is more!?" she gasps, tensing up but smiling madly.

I finally penetrate her, passing through her lips and plowing into her insides. The pooch seems to go a bit deeper, but the closer I go to its base, the more sensitive it seems to get. She responds louder and more passionately when I push in further, especially when I tease my fingers down along the length of her pooch.

She's had three more orgasms by the time I end up completely sheathing myself into her, which given her height is enough to make her entire flabby body jiggle and even cause some distortion in the shape of her stomach. She still fits comfortably, not taut and tight like Nitka, which has its own level of pleasure to it. I can feel her pooch pulsing next to my cock all the way down, even where it sticks wetly to my thigh.

"Do you feel the presence of your goddess now, priestess None?" I tease her, using my fingers (slick with her cum) to pinch and roll her nipples. Her bulging eyes and gaping, drooling mouth certainly look like she's having her own sort of religious experience, whether she's a virgin or just not used to human dick.

"Anoint me, master! Mark me as your chosen!" she rants, words drunkenly slurred and splashing me with spittle in her mind-numbing passion. I give her a few more pumps that make her stomach jiggle before I pull out swiftly. The tracing of the rim of my cockhead along her pooch makes her squeal the entire way out, cumming again on the floor once again. I take her big soft tits and squeeze them together around my already oily cock. Her slick, malleable breasts feel amazing around my shaft, soft and slimy and her fat nipples making some useful handles for my fingers. My balls drag along her soft belly, adding to the building arousal before I cum over her face and tits. The thick stream splats onto her and the murky white stands boldly against her bright green skin.

None shrieks in delight at the sensation mixed in with her last four or five orgasms, rubbing it into her greasy skin. The same substance from her skin seems to stick to my hands and chest as I try to wipe some of it off on the blankets when I'm done cumming on her. We both catch our breaths a while, leaving her to purr and roll around on her bed like a kid too excited for the Winter Solstice to go to sleep.

"That good, huh?" I ask a bit breathlessly.

"Worthy of a goddess!" she coos in delight. I chuckle and take her chin, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. In all our weird exploratory sex, I'd almost failed to do so.

"Well you earned all of it. Consider yourself hired, and the perfection of goblin-kind." I finish wiping off what I can of the goblin grease and pull on my robe, reminding myself to make one of the skeletons get me a new sinister robe and get this one cleaned. "I was going to dinner in the main hall. Did you want to come?"

"Of course, goddess! Anything to be in your presence!" she insists. None ends up fitting in fine, if getting her share of eye rolls from Baruun. The orcs don't hate the goblins so much as they don't understand them, which is really how most species view them anyway. After dinner and I give Baruun another fucking to put her mind at ease (equal treatment and all that), I return to my bedroom and wave down Marcus.

"AT YOUR COMMAND, YOUR OVERLORDSHIP!"

"Go and tell the dwarves I'll meet with them tomorrow. I think it's time we stopped waiting for the problems to come to us."

"AT ONCE, YOUR GRACE!"

-x-X-x-

Chapter 4 - Helga the Dwarf

-x-X-x-

My tower's been much more noisy lately, but I find it comforting. I grew up in a town, after all, so a big empty tower didn't feel right to me from the start. A quiet place to study, sure, but it's pleasant to catch bits of Baruun trying to shape up the lesser skeletons or Nitka busying herself in her off time by filing down the various stone walls or statues that were uneven. It takes a bit to establish boundaries with None, who either doesn't know when to approach a goddess or when to follow me like a dog. I've taken to showing her some more advanced magic, which she seems to enjoy when she can keep from ducking under my robes and helping herself to a quickie.

Marcus tends to act as the messenger at the tower entrance more often than not. With the girls handling their own races, he's got less running around to do. It's always interesting to see how the skeletons behave in their down time. little personalities developing between the magic and what was their human spirits. Marcus was a bit more involved in his creation, from when I built him as the commander of my skeletons. He's more passionate and talkative than the rest, but if he has nothing to say or do, he just... waits for more orders.

This was one of those days. Marcus had scheduled a visit to the dwarven part of my territory, and they were kind (or meticulous) enough to tell me to show up today in the evening. I take a late lunch with my company of sexy advisors and while Syrus (one of the lesser skeletons) readies the carriage.

The other races and the former overlord's journals were calling it Dwarf Town, but some basic research found that it was actually called Vilda. The dwarves are by and large the most civilized settlement on my land. They have full blown carts, cottages, two-story houses of wood and brick, smiths... it lives up to the Town part of the nickname more than the goblin mud huts and the kobolds with their beds inside their tunnels.

The dwarves do have a few things in common with the goblins: they're a little more than half human height and no matter where you go in the world, they're pretty much the same as people expect. They're hardworking people that always seem to have the sound and smell of of metal on metal about them. The men have beards as big and ridiculous as all the stories, all of them in shades of black or red. They're husky folks, thick in chest and limb that makes them ideal for lugging around heavy weapons, armor and loads of supplies. They're like the donkeys of men, especially on being stubborn. They're all busy with something, even their chubby little children running about with buckets of water or some tools for their fathers.

I step out of the carriage, and the passing dwarves give me curt little tilts of their heads. Polite nods to acknowledge me before going about their business. Definitely not the screaming and worshiping goblins, but I had definitely set some ground rules when I'd arrived with a couple of elder dwarves. Simply, the old overlord is dead. I'm in charge of this place now. There were very few questions.

"Excuse me, son," I say to the nearest approaching dwarf. There was some early confusion when I established my control, but apparently it's just like calling someone "brother" to the dwarves. Even the highest king is a son to something. The approaching dwarf is a black-haired gent, his beard still smoking slightly at the tips from whatever work he was doing, who gives me the same busy nod.

"Can you tell me who's in charge around here? I have a meeting."

The dark-haired man scoffs a bit before wiping some spit from his beard and keeps waddling off. I roll my eyes and give a little twirling motion with my fingers, magically lifting him off his feet. There's a clattering of metal as his armor shifts, and he swiftly grabs his kilt to keep it from falling as I turn him upside down.

"Let me rephrase that," I say calmly. He lets out a small storm of curses, some of which I even recognize. It's the bread and butter of their language, I understand, as a species that frequently works with hammers, fire and picks in close proximity to fingers. "I'm in charge. Tell me where I can go to meet the head dwarf."

"There ain't one!" he sputters in their chick-tongued accent, suddenly a lot more cooperative. A few dwarves look up with interest, but never for very long and often still working their craft. None try to stop me.

"Pardon?" I ask with withering patience on my face.

"There's no head dwarf," he explains, face going red with the help of embarrassment and gravity rushing the blood to his cheeks.

"Why? Is he dead?"

"Never was one, sir! Yer grace!" He's trying polite on top of helpful, which is an improvement.

"I happen to recall meeting several village elders about a year ago," I remind him.

"Oh, sure. They were elderly, is why." Gods damn you, linguistics.

"If I may, sir." Another dwarf approached carefully; redhead, clad in leathers and with a much simpler axe than some that suggested he was just a woodcutter. "What exactly did you need help with?"

"I was told to come about local issues," I answer him, turning to face him while still hovering the first guy for good measure. "I'm trying a new... public outreach program of sorts to keep problems at a minimum." I pause and then flick my wrist to right the first dwarf and let him land on his feet. "For all of us."

The new one nods and itched his fat moustache thoughtfully. "Oh, aye. Local troubles... yeh, then you'd do best at the inn. Ask fer Firebraid."

"Thank you," I say, snapping my fingers as Syrus drives off to park the cart and tend the horses. "Would you be so polite as to show me the way?"

The place has an open front (no doors necessary) and a low ceiling, but I only need to stoop my shoulders to keep the hood of my cloak from scraping. Even the bar's busy. I don't even mean that it's crowded, but that even when they're drinking and eating, the dwarves are keeping busy. A few talk sternly about what appears to be business or perhaps a bet. An old gray one whittles on what might be either a whistle or a pipe. A woman sharpens her wide sword at a table, taking breaks from it to fill her mouth with bread or meat just to sharpen while she chewed.

The guiding dwarf doesn't scour the crowd for long before shouting in a particular direction over the low ruckus. "Ey, Firebraid! Comp'ny for ya!"

"Ah, fuck yeself, old mahn! Lemme get me shit straight and get these whiskerless fuckers fed!"

Firebraid is actually a little misleading. Instead of the stereotypical bright red, she has thick hair the deep color of a freshly oiled wooden door. A mysterious and bright mix of brown and red. She has a thick apron on, splashed by stains of beer and grease (I think) over a short green and white dress just around the knees. She passes off a few plates of fatty meat to a couple along with a few tall mugs before she shoved the tray in her armpit and walks over. "Aye? Whatcha need?"

My guide nods over at me. "The man's got business. Says he's needin' to know about any local troubles." I look from him to the barmaid quietly. Looking her over, body hair is not a major concern. She doesn't have a beard like some of the jokes claim, but there's bold red hair down her arms and legs as thick as I've seen on more rugged human men.

"I understand that there's no leaders here," I say patiently to the man who led me here. "But you're literally passing me off to a waitress? You have to have a mayor or even a quarry manager who..."

"Knows that Ein and Angus are havin' trouble at home with their babe gettin' ta sleep?" Firebraid has her arms folded against her apron, pushing up her wide and solid chest. She sniffs casually with her thick freckled nose. "Or Denan bustin' his leg in the mine when the tunnel gave out? Or the farmers havin' trouble keepin' the moose from wreckin' up the fences by the goat pens?" I frown at her as she smirks back fearlessly. "Ye're the man what sent the skeleton, right? Ye'll be wantin' words with me, then. If folks are gonna bitch to anybody, it's when they're good an' pissed."

I keep up my quiet frown to seem indigent for a moment before I sigh. "Thank you, sir. I think Miss Firebraid will be able to handle it from here."

"Helga," she corrected before turning and shoutin over her shoulder. "EY, FINN! I'm goin' on me break! Might be a while! An' fetch me the talkin' ale!"

She takes me back to her place, a small house just behind her tavern. It's a bit larger than a nice room at an inn. She lugs a small barrel and some tall mugs with her, dropping them by the low table by some short but cushy chairs. "So," I say, leaning forward in my seat so I don't lose any semblance of dignity by sinking into this oh-so-fucking comfy chair. "Tell me about this 'talking ale."

"It's fer business, aye?" Helga loses her apron, showing a set of wife and full breasts beneath her greasy work clothes. She hammers a tap into the keg and starts filling one of the mugs with some dark brown drink. I think I smell apples on the stuff. "You always negotiate over a drink. Old dwarf tradition. If you're sharin' thoughts, you're sharin' gifts."

"Generous of you all," I note as she slides the first mug over to me. I drink gingerly for the first taste, but drink deeper the second. It's warm and sweet, and like most dwarven drink, I could probably start a fire with it, so I don't go overboard.

"Ain't generous. It's fair," she says almost firmly. "So what brings ye over to our end? Lookin' fer some armor or a war machine or somethin'?"

"Oh gods no," I assure her. "I was offering to see-"

"Too bad. Cuz yer wagon's lookin' to start ta rust soon, an' yer skeleton's armor's seen better days."

I hesitate as I hold my mug in front of me. "That's because they're skeletons. They don't need much for armor."

"Don't mean they don't have dignity!" Helga huffs.

"It literally does," I sigh. "I tell them what to think and feel, and for most of them, that's not much."

Helga gives a little huff as she takes the seat beside me, taking a few gulps of her mug. "Do ya now? Right impressive. Explains yer terrible social skills."

I try to look cross with her, but I let out a crack of a snicker. She's not entirely wrong. "Point taken. But I think I'm leagues more polite than your last overlord, thank you."

"An' I'm prettier than a goat's arse. Not th' best for comparisons, aye?" She drinks again and sighs as downing most of her mug gets her warmed up. "Know your first problem? Ye don't realize it yet, but ye don't rule over us."

"That's funny," I say and spare a grim little smile. "I own this land my rules of 'might makes right.' I'd made that very clear when I blew up anyone who threatened my position those months ago."

"Oh, of course. Ye own the land, we live on it, and that's right generous of ya. We give ya back as you do us. But ye're a real piece, aye?"

"A piece of what?" I ask, smirking at the implication while I work on my drink.

"A piece of the machine. We're all pushin' and pullin', an' some more than others but everyone in different ways. You think you're just sittin' thar, tellin' us what to do when you want it, but ye're also... what's that? Finger wigglin' and blowin' up troublemakers. Scarin' off traders that'd take away our business. Keepin' the nastier nasties out there while we can at least stomach the orcs and kobolds." She pulled herself up in her seat to punch me in the arm. It's not a light punch. "Ye give more than think. Ye're one of us, and that's right fuckin' beautiful of ye, brother."

I chuckle a little and get near finished with my first mug. "So that's how you all work so hard? Dwarves are all ants in a colony? Cogs in a machine? All without a king or a figurehead to tell you to keep at it?"

"Ye don't have human kings telling you to go and fuck off sleepin' all day, do ye?"

"We do. It's called holidays," I correct her. "It's usually when the king wants his people to stop stressing and think less about starting a revolution."

Helga shook her head. "I need ta show you a dwarf calendar some time. The real old stone ones. The dwarves have a holiday every single day of the year." I look at her with an amused smirk, which seems to rile her up. "It's fuckin' Dargrel's day today! Mark my life it is! Every October tenth!"

I break into a snicker as she keeps defending the logic of her holiday. I refill my mug while I start to steer her towards the local problems she'd mentioned. The dwarves sound like they're doing pretty well for themselves, but it's still good to know. All I really offer directing the orcs a bit further into the forest on their hunts to see if they feel like having some moose meat to keep them out of the dwarves' farms. She sounds pretty satisfied with that.

Some folks say that there's no place more comfortable than a halfling's home. I've never been myself, but a dwarven house with some dwarven ale and a stocky little beauty for company is doing me just fine. I let her ramble about the problems the locals have been going through, and that eventually goes into her own troubles. Firebraid seems like the type that doesn't need the beer to complain or tell you that you're wrong, but it makes for a handy excuse when she does it. I'm entirely fine listening to her go off because of just how colorfully she does it through her accent and vocabulary. Both grow worse the more she has.

"Fockin' shithead comes in bleedin' and is like 'Oi, I'll need a pint.' Fucker, ye need a doctor! Y'ain't toastin' to yer missin' fockin' leg, ya fuck! Couldn't find shit in 'is own arse, the pube-faced li'l cunt. Shouldn't be wavin' around his nan's feather duster, let alone a bloody battle axe. A few smacks in the skull woulda kept the scruffy little turd from gettin' 'imself hurt and leavin' me fuckin' scrubbin' blood off me floors 'til the wee hours! If he'da been a scrawny thing like you, he'd be missin' half that giant body o' yours."

I'd been nodding along for a while, enjoying another sip. "Well, Helga, I do think you're the last person left alive to have called me scrawny." Baruun had called me "undercooked" and "spindly," but not quite the same. I smile at her and set my mug aside for a moment. "Are you involved with anyone yet?"

"Nah, none of the lads are to my tastes around here," she muttered. "Thick-headed and ugly bunch of clans out here. None that I'd think were the marryin' types."

"Isn't that most dwarven men?" I ask, letting it slip with a smirk from my drunken tongue.

She still snorts with amusement at that as her red-haired arm tips back her mug again. "Ain't humans all such paper-boned lightweights ye can fly if ye flap hard enough?"

"Is it true a dwarven mother lactates egg nog?" That gets a full cackle out of her as she slaps her knee. "I heard if you cut the beard off of a dwarf, the beard will grow a new dwarf." She keeps snickering until she tries to drink, but I keep peppering her with what off-color jokes I heard from taverns and upper crust wizards. I'm not surprised she hasn't heard any of them before. Nobody would normally say one to a dwarf's face. Even if they wouldn't punch or axe your face in,

"Oh, I like you, human!" she giggles as she wipes away the beer she'd snorted out her nose.

"It's William, if you please," I add.

"Then you're gods-damned lucky that I please," she chuckled, tugging at her collar to cool herself off from all the laughing. It makes her wide breasts bounce in a fabulously active fashion.

"Well I like you too, Helga. I can use more honest and concerned voices around me to keep my head on straight."

"Then you're a mighty bright one, brother Will. It's not many people realize just how big a fuckup they can be."

"No offense taken. So what is it you want in life, Helga? You're clearly not very happy out here."

"I'm washin' dishes and servin' workaholic drunks, brother. It's simple but it's necessary work."

"You're not answering the question," I remind her.

She sighs and sinks down into her seat, tapping out the last drops of her mug into her mouth. "I'd like ta be more than the clan's fuckin' babysitter some day. Do me bloodline proud with somethin' better."

"Like a leader?" I offer, and she hesitates. "Or something in between, of course. I'm a powerful man, in many meanings of the word. A representative of your people in the castle of a man that owns the ground as far as his tower sees?" She drums her fingers thoughtfully on her mug. "Stop me any time if this sounds like too much for you."

"I don't rightly think that far ahead," she admitted. She set down her mug and strode over to me. "What'd I be doin'?"

"Occasional trips between your people. Reminding me of your customs when I consider large-scale plans. Filling one of the empty beds in my castle."

Helga looks me up and down, smirking. "Why? No space in the full ones?"

"I can make some room," I reply with my own grin to match.

Helga sets down her mug as she keeps up her smile. "You done good by me, Willy," she says, running her thick hands under my robe and over my thighs. "It's my duty to remind ye that it's custom to repay that in kind."

I pull her into my lap, kissing her with a drunkard's passion as Gilda and I start to help each other out of our clothes. She's passably human at a glance, but dwarf skin is really quite different from ours. It's thick and rough like leather, but the freshly cut kind rather than a smooth and properly prepared belt. It's surprisingly to feel over a woman's hips and hear a dull scraping sound. Her body hair's something I can easily get over, especially when I find it to be rather soft to the touch instead of coarse. It's more comfortable to touch the hair that thinly runs down the legs and back of her arms than some of the rougher bits of her skin. I find myself stroking over her thick arms as much as I am squeezing her ass.

Her breasts are wrapped in a bra that's this masterwork of leather and industrial-grade elastic, and the squat beauty is even more busty than I had imagined. They're easily bigger than her head, sagging with the weight and still pushing outward like half-filled potato sacks. Their bras are clearly there for very practical reasons, because there was no way Helga could see her toes without it. And forget about the idea of blacksmithing with those giants bouncing around.

"Ye gonna stare at em like a wee boy or are ye touch em like a man?" she urged in her low voice, and I gladly take up her challenge as I squeeze as much as I can fit in my hands. Her nipples are hard and of a softer texture than the rest of her, but her skin is subtly pocked like the brail that older wizards used in their books. It makes her nipple feel like a thimble as I rub against it, drawing whispered curses and blasphemes from her lips.

There's a bit more fumbling to get inside of her. We have to lift her off my lap when she's done grinding through my pants, the heavy drunk woman already sweating but never slowing as a testament to her dwarven endurance. Even when we're both nude in my armchair, it takes a while of fumbling around the pubic hair that runs from thigh to thigh before I find her entrance. She lets out a huge, almost horrified-sounding groan before she mutters some sort of praises in broken dwarvish and finds her rhythm.

To be fair, I simplified it as a grunted "Holy fucking shit." There's something special about having a dwarf riding your dick. There's a lot of sensations going on at once. Her strong thighs squeezing against my legs. The soft, red peach fuzz of her legs rubbing my skin. The tickle of her silky bush against my stomach. Her huge, fat breasts tracing their semi-rough skin over my chest with every wobbling thrust. Her kisses tasting like apples and honey with the hint of strong beer. Her thick, short arms sliding around my neck to steady herself. And of course, her warm and smooth pussy bouncing onto my cock.

I think most noticeable is the sheer density of my lover. She weighs more than a normal human woman, even close to Baruun in sheer weight. However, her four-foot body has it packed into a much smaller package. She has the muscle to move it with some surprising speed, and I find my sex-clouded mind comparing it to a getting a handjob from a super strong giant hand. Every erotic thrust of her pussy comes with a dense, soft impact against my pelvis and chest like a dropping weight. I can't possibly hold out for long with her going like that.

I cum inside of her after some period of time, and she slides back enough to hold my cock between her powerful thighs. "An' everyone talks about how great dwarven stamina is," she chuckled with a weary smile. "They don't count on havin' ta masturbate for hours at a time if ye want to break yer seal, let alone get yerself a coupla babes."

She slides off of me, and I can read her disappointment as her bush appears to have swallowed my cum and kept it inside. I raise a suspicious eyebrow and raise a hand in a firm gesture. Helga gasps and freezes, pawing at her crotch. Of course she can't grab anything, but she can feel the firm around of force I'm putting on her clitoris.

"I know that humans have a reputation as much as the dwarves," I say as calmly as I can when drunk and still in the afterglow of my orgasm. "And we do enjoy a challenge. Now, there are orders of mages that think chastity will keep their mana pure and properly flowing. I think they just can't get laid for their lives, because I always feel my powers invigorated after sex."

"Ya sneaky little AH! Fuck!" Helga doubles over, clutching at her crotch as my projected magical hand continues to finger her.

"Now get back over here," I say more firmly. "We aren't leaving until you've cum. Because you did right by me, and I mean to return the favor." That might have been what she said before. I'm too drunk to be certain, at that point.

I apply a bit of telekinesis as I get her on all fours on the bed. Helga's shouting curses in every language that I know as her big red-brown braids bounce along her back. I let the unseen hands roam over her body, making her feel like I'm not only fucking her from behind but that a half dozen hands are exploring her many folds and curves. She loves when I pinch and pull down on her nipples or thumb her lip until she drools. "Ohh, ya great bloody tallfellow..." she babbles weakly when she seems to run out of curses. She crumbles onto her chest, panting as she spreads out her thighs to take me better and deeper. I smirk as her seemingly boundless endurance gives way to let her collapse in front of me, still no orgasm out of her. Like I said, though, I enjoy the challenge.

"Easy there, Helga. If I fuck you any harder, I think you'll run out of gods to curse," I chuckle.

"You ain't got the stone in ya to do me right, ye cockless no-beard fuck," she says, but there's a hopeful squeak in her dumbly grinning defiance.

"I'll take that as an invitation. I pull out, cock still wet with both of our cum as I spread her freckled ass cheeks and slide it into her rear. It's tight from the solid weight of her cheeks squeezing around it, engulfing my ass as she lets out a long and wordless howl. She sputters and sprays beer and spittle over the bedsheets, as if unable to talk. Like I've fucked the words out of her. I run my hands through her silky bush and stroke and pinch the fattest parts of her clitoris, finding through her almost psychotic screams of pleasure that Helga shows more than a casual interest in anal. The combined teasing of my cock and hands finally make her squirt over the bed, as if I'd tapped the keg that she'd drank earlier and released a big messy orgasm of its contents onto the bed.

"Oh... oh, grandfather's axe through his fuckin' beard," she panted witlessly. "Fuck a shit-eating cunt... ohhh never nuffin' like that." Dwarves apparently don't orgasm much, but when they do it's a real mindblower for them.

"I'm glad you like it," I say as I pat her on the ass, pulling out and rubbing my wet cock's head against her asshole. "Because you'll like the second one even more."

"There's more than ONE?!" she blurts, starting to squirm on the bed. It makes her ass jiggle and her thighs clench as the sweaty hair shifts on her legs. "I... no, I couldn't... never..." She almost sounds afraid of the idea.

"I like those odds," I say with a devilish grin, sticking back inside of her and getting another passionate howl out of her.

Helga Firebraid makes a welcome addition to the castle. She's more worldly and modern-thinking than the other girls, and gladly speaks her mind. She likes the cool air of the lower tower, so she takes one of the old guards' rooms. I think it used to belong to the captain, or maybe the head torturer. Anyway, it was one of the weirdos I'd banished or killed when I took over. I introduce her to the rest of them, and they get to work arranging the orc hunters to go after the moose and swapping mining plans with Nitka.

I decide to just go to my throne room, catch up on a little reading and get to bed. All the sex and drinking's left me exhausted, and I'd hid it as best I could on the trip up the tower. I slump into my throne where Marcus guards dutifully.

"Marcus?" I ask with a yawn, the ale still loosening my tongue and mind.

"YES, YOUR GREATNESS AND WISENESS!?" he blurts readily.

"Are you happy?" I gestured messily at the skeleton. "Like this?"

"ABSOLUTELY, SIR! WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO SMILE MORE OFTEN, SIR?!"

"You... literally can't, Marcus. Don't worry about it."

"VERY GOOD, SIR! I SHALL BEGIN NOT WORRYING ABOUT IT IMMEDIATELY!"

"And Marcus?"

"ANYTHING YOU MAY NEED, MY LORD?!"

"I'm sorry. Just... that'll be all for tonight." Marcus nods curtly, whether her understands or not. He salutes hard enough to leave a crack I'll have to fix later before he stomps off for more duties.