Arthur stirred awake to the warmth and wetness engulfing him. The morning light filtered softly through the wooden shutters, brushing across the room in pale gold.
His breath caught as he shifted, realizing what it was—Beca was between his legs, her soft brown hair spilling over his thighs, her lips stretched wide around his cock.
Her eyes were half-lidded, dreamy, and every time she sank lower, her throat hummed with a muffled
Mmmmoooohhh~," as if savoring him like the sweetest milk. Thick strands of saliva clung from her lips to his shaft, glistening in the light, while her hands kneaded his hips with needy insistence.
Arthur groaned, one arm falling across his eyes. He was still sore from the night before, his body heavy, yet she sucked with such eagerness it was impossible not to react.
His length throbbed, hardening fully inside her mouth, and she responded with a delighted moan, her tongue swirling around him as if she had been waiting for this moment all night.
"Beca…" he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips wet, cheeks flushed, before whispering in her strange broken language, breath hot against him:
"Mooohh… g-good morning… master…"
And then she swallowed him again, deeper, with a hungry slurp that made his whole body tense.
Damn… she's perfect.
-
Arthur sat at the head, his expression unreadable as he chewed slowly. Across from him, Merlin slumped over her food, hair a tangled mess, her body heavy with exhaustion from another night in the stables. Her eyes were dull, yet sharp enough to notice the strange air in the room.
Something in Arthur's gaze, something in the way Beca kept close to his side, made her narrow her eyes.
She set her spoon down with a small clatter, then spoke in a low voice, almost casual but edged with tension:
"So… when are you going to let the cattle-girl be bred by a goblin? She'll learn to like it. They're gentle in their own way."
The words hit like a stone in still water.
Beca froze, her hand halfway to her mouth.
Her face flushed crimson, and she held her breath, chest rising with panic.
Her wide eyes darted to Arthur, silently pleading, as if the question itself had stolen the air from her lungs.
Arthur didn't answer right away.
He leaned back in his chair, meeting Merlin's gaze with a steady calm that only deepened the tension.
Merlin forced a weak smile, but her voice trembled with something darker—jealousy, possessiveness, maybe even fear of being replaced.
"They're big down there..." Merlin murmured, her eyes fixed on Beca's wide hips. A crooked smile tugged at her lips. "But she definitely won't mind."
Beca's fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles went white.
"She can start with just one, then when she gets used to it she can have a queue. She'll like it, believe me, she'll like it." Merlin sounded like a teacher.
The silence stretched.
Beca shifted uncomfortably.
"And it also helps you, Arthur," Merlin still tried to sound like she was explaining something obvious. "With this you won't just have one Womb, but two. Double the productivity."
She leaned forward slightly, spoon forgotten beside her bowl, eyes flicking between Arthur and Beca. "It's simple math. Two wombs, two cycles. Faster growth. Faster expansion. You don't even need to touch her. Just let the goblins do what they do."
Arthur's jaw flexed, the muscle twitching once beneath his cheek. He didn't speak, but his fingers curled slowly around the edge of the table, knuckles pale. His gaze remained fixed on Merlin — not angry, not surprised. Just watching. Measuring.
Beca shrank into herself, her shoulders folding inward like wings retreating. Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to lift her spoon again, but it clattered against the bowl. She let out a soft "muuuh…" — barely audible, more breath than sound — and lowered her gaze to her lap, as if trying to disappear into the wood grain of the chair.
Merlin's tone sharpened, her voice gaining a bitter edge. "You don't have to pretend she's special. She's not. She's quiet, she obeys, she moos — that's all. She's a vessel. I was more than that. I still am."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt.
Merlin's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You think I don't see it? The way she sits beside you. The way you let her stay clean while I rot in the stables. You're building something, Arthur. I helped you start it. Don't forget who bled first."
Beca let out another "muuuh…" — this one sharper, almost like a gasp. Her eyes shimmered, wide and wet, but she didn't speak.
Arthur finally moved. He leaned back in his chair, slow and deliberate, the wood creaking beneath him. His expression remained unreadable, but the silence he carried was heavier now — not passive, but loaded.
Merlin sat back too, her smile fading. "I just want to help," she said, softer now. "I just want to be useful."
Arthur didn't move at first. He simply looked up, slow and deliberate, his gaze cold and unreadable—like a man assessing a broken tool.
His voice came low, steady, and without emotion:
"Calm down, Merlin. You don't need to convince me… I've already taken care of it. And Beca's afraid of goblins, so she won't be used for that."
As he spoke, he pushed his plate aside with a quiet scrape, fingers precise, almost surgical. His posture remained relaxed—too relaxed. The kind of stillness that didn't signal peace, but control.
Beca let out a soft "muuuh…" as if the tension had finally allowed her lungs to move again.
Merlin's smile faltered.
Merlin's smile vanished. "There's no reason for you to do this alone," she said, her voice a low echo of betrayal. "I may have gotten dirty... but I'm your childhood friend. I'm not the only one who can do what those little green ones need. She can too. She... she's an animal. And I'm yours. Why... why should you touch her?"
Arthur's lips curved into a faint, measured smile, the kind he used whenever he needed to keep control of a situation.
"I checked the merchant's manual," he said, his tone calm, almost disdainful. "It says you don't need to mate a cattle-girl to bring the milk. No need to break the 'hymen' with a penis. The act of... stimulating her is enough. I tried that last night. That should be enough."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Merlin blinked slowly, as if she hadn't heard correctly.
Then her spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered against the table. Her chest heaved once, twice—her face paling before flushing a violent red.
"You… did what?" she hissed, her voice trembling between disbelief and fury. "You touched her? You put your hands on her—while I was out there, giving everything for you to those goblins?"
Her voice rose, raw, poisonous, trembling with a fury that wasn't just about the cattle-girl.
It was about betrayal, about being replaced in the only role she clung to because of Arthur.
Arthur's calm expression faltered for the first time, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
Beca, trembling, hugged her arms around her chest, as if trying to make herself smaller under Merlin's scorching gaze.
Arthur's voice cut the tense silence, firm, low, and almost cold.
"You talk as if I had offended her," he said, staring at Merlin's furious gaze without backing down. "But you are the one who is paying for your sins, Merlin. Don't forget that. Compared to what you did... what I did to Beca was nothing."
The words hit her like a blade.
Merlin's jaw tightened, her lips trembling, and for a moment it seemed she could attack again.
But the fire in her eyes diminished to something more fragile, something wounded.
She lowered her gaze, her fists clenched in her lap.
"...I see," she whispered, her voice breaking a little.
Arthur did not soften. He simply went back to his food as if the conversation was over.
Merlin stood up abruptly, the bench scraping the floor.
Her steps were heavy as she turned, muttering in an almost childish way, "I'm going to sleep..."
But even as she went up the stairs, her posture rigid, her back radiated the weight of her resentment.
She was still deeply suffocated with anger and jealousy—too much to forgive, too little to truly walk away.
Arthur exhaled, his expression unreadable, while Beca squirmed nervously beside him, the tension clinging densely in the air.
Arthur watched Beca for a moment longer, her small frame trembling beside him, eyes still wide from Merlin's verbal assault. Then, without a word, he reached out and pulled her gently into his lap.
She let out a surprised "muuuh…" — soft, startled, but not afraid. Her body stiffened at first, unsure, but his arms around her were firm and steady.
"You're mine now," Arthur said, voice low against her ear. "You don't need to fear the goblins. You'll only work with them if you choose to. No one will force you."
Beca blinked, her breath catching as she felt the heat of him beneath her — the tension in his body, the way his hands rested possessively on her hips.
"Feel that?" he murmured, pressing closer. "That's how much I want you. I'm not gentle. I'm not fair. I'm possessive."
Her cheeks flushed, and she gave a tiny giggle — a sound like a bell in a quiet room — followed by a cheerful "muuuh ❤️," her head nuzzling lightly against his chest.
Arthur exhaled slowly, his grip tightening just enough to remind her: she was claimed.
And for the first time that morning, the silence in the farmhouse felt less like tension — and more like belonging.
"Muuuuh ❤️ Master, do you want me to milky again?" Beca bit her lip, her voice soft as she shifted her wide hips over his length.
"Not now, Beca. Let's eat first. Help yourself, don't be shy," Arthur said with a faint smile, enjoying the warmth of her body against his.
"But Master is suffering, muuuh ❤️" she whispered, her large eyes pleading as she pressed her voluptous hips down, catching him in a sweet, pulsing grip.
Arthur chuckled.
"Easy, Beca. We need to eat and work. Later, I'll ask for your help with that." His hand gripped her hip, fingers sinking into soft flesh.
"Muuuuh… alright then," Beca murmured, shy again.
Arthur tilted his head. "Beca, why don't you wear clothes? Not that I mind… I'm just curious."
"It's our culture, Master," she said, her voice gentle. "No one looks at us like you do… or like the goblins do. So we stay free. Muuuuh."
He felt the grip of her hips tighten, coaxing him closer to surrendering to his urges. It was a slow, deliberate pressure — not demanding, but inviting. And for a moment, the weight of restraint thinned, replaced by the raw pull of instinct.
Arthur gave her a light smack on her full, elastic round ass.
"Easy, Beca," he said, voice low but amused.
Her skin warmed with a blush, and a soft laugh escaped her lips — light and breathy, like wind through chimes. "Muuuuh ❤️," she hummed, pressing her cheek gently to his chest, her tail flicking once behind her.
Damn… all it would take is lifting her just a little and sliding in.
The thought hit hard, primal and vivid. He clenched his jaw.
Shit. Focus, Arthur. There's work to be done.
But the heat lingered, stubborn as ever, curling around the edges of his restraint.