The echoes of the Naked Football League faded slowly in Eldoria's streets, replaced by tales told in taverns and hearths for weeks after. The women reveled in the bruises and triumphs, bodies marked by grass stains and passionate aftermaths that lingered like sweet aches. Champions wore their victories proudly—Mira's City Sirens team had joined the co-winners in private feasts, sharing Ethan in rotations that left none unsatisfied. The city buzzed with renewed vigor, pregnant bellies swelling across guilds and homes, a testament to the Breeder's enduring legacy.
But Ethan felt the pull of uncharted horizons. Maps in the temple vaults—ancient scrolls fused with the Artifact's growing power—revealed the world in fragments. He had traversed 60% of the known lands: the rugged borders of Eldoria, the sun-baked sands of Nubia, the submerged reefs of Aquaara, the misty isles of Aeloria, the towering groves of Valaria. Forty percent remained—shadowed realms, forgotten enclaves, women waiting in isolation for the spark only he could provide. The shadow threat loomed ever closer, its tendrils probing defenses, demanding he forge alliances through exploration and seed.
Scouts returned with whispers of the Low Valley: a subterranean network 1000 meters underground, accessed through hidden fissures in the eastern mountains. There dwelled the goblin women—silent, cunning, operators of thief's guilds that controlled black markets across the surface world. Rarely did they ascend, and only for brief hours of shadowy business: smuggling relics, fencing stolen arcane goods, vanishing before dawn. Their society was all-female, reproduction tied to rare magical rites that had failed for generations, leaving them dwindling and desperate.
Ethan gathered his companions at dawn. Vaeloria sharpened her spear, obsidian armor gleaming. Liraya packed vials of flame essence, crimson robes flowing. Valyndra, towering and golden, adjusted her leaf-mail over her rounded belly, sky-magic humming in her veins.
"We descend," Ethan said simply. "The goblins hold keys to underground wards—passages that could flank the shadow armies. And they need what I bring."
The journey took three days on horseback through rising foothills, then a narrow trail into a yawning chasm. The fissure plunged straight down, walls slick with moss and dripping water. Valyndra wove vines into harnesses; Liraya lit the way with floating orbs of soft fire. They rappelled in stages, the air growing cooler, heavier with earth and mineral scents.
At 1000 meters, the chasm opened into a vast cavern system—the Low Valley. Bioluminescent fungi cast eerie green glows over rolling hills of stone and crystal veins. Underground rivers snaked through, feeding lakes that mirrored the stalactite ceilings like starry skies. Villages dotted the landscape—clusters of low, camouflaged huts built from black rock and woven webs, invisible until close.
Silent figures emerged from shadows: goblin women, short and wiry, averaging four feet tall with green-tinged skin, pointed ears, sharp features, and eyes like polished onyx. Hair wild in blacks and greens, bodies clad in tight leather harnesses that emphasized compact curves—firm breasts, strong thighs from constant stealth. They moved without sound, daggers at hips, expressions wary but curious.
No words were spoken at first—their society prized silence, communication through gestures, subtle scents, and telepathic whispers from ancient goblin magic. Their leader, a sly beauty named Shadra, approached with hands open. Her skin was deep emerald, hair braided with silver threads, eyes glinting with intelligence. Through mind-touch—a faint brush of thoughts—she conveyed welcome and need.
Their guilds controlled the underworld: silent thieves stealing from surface tyrants, redistributing to the oppressed. But their numbers waned—no births in decades, rites failing under the shadow's curse. Prophecy spoke of a Surface-Breeder who could restore their lines.
Ethan nodded understanding. "We come to ally. Share your knowledge of the deep paths, and I will give what you seek."
The mind-touch rippled with agreement. Hospitality followed in their central hall—a vast cavern chamber lit by glowing crystals, floors cushioned with woven moss mats, tables laden with subterranean feasts: roasted cave-mushrooms, crystal-honey mead, spiced blind-fish from dark rivers.
The goblin women—hundreds strong, all female—watched Ethan with hungry eyes, gestures conveying desire. Shadra led him to a private alcove, screened by hanging vines, where the air hummed with anticipation.
She disrobed first—leather harness falling away to reveal compact perfection: perky breasts with dark green nipples, toned abs from stealthy climbs, a smooth mound glistening already.
Ethan shed his tunic, cock hardening under her gaze. She approached silent, small hands exploring his chest, lower to grip him firmly, stroking with goblin precision.
He lifted her easily—her lightness thrilling—and pressed her against the vine wall, lips claiming hers in a fierce kiss. Her tongue darted quick, tasting of honey mead.
Shadra wrapped legs around his waist, guiding him to her entrance. He thrust in slow—tight, hot, walls gripping like a thief's snare.
A faint mind-whisper: Pleasure… deeper…
He obliged, pounding steady, her small body bouncing in his arms.
Vaeloria, Liraya, and Valyndra entered the alcove, stripping to join. Vaeloria knelt, licking where they joined; Liraya warmed oils with magic, pouring over bodies; Valyndra's long fingers reached to pinch Shadra's nipples.
The goblin came first—body seizing silent, mind screaming ecstasy, pussy clenching in waves.
Ethan filled her, seed flooding deep.
The night deepened into silent revelry.
Shadra summoned guild sisters—small, agile women crowding the alcove. They pleasured Ethan in waves: one sucking deep while another rode his face; pairs bending over vines for him to alternate thrusts.
Gestures guided: faster, harder, deeper.
Vaeloria took a goblin from behind with fingers; Liraya conjured warm breezes over sensitive skin; Valyndra lifted goblins onto Ethan one by one, her height allowing easy access.
Climaxes came in silent shudders—bodies trembling, eyes rolling, nectar flowing.
Days blurred in underground exploration and ecstasy.
By day, they mapped the Low Valley: hidden tunnels linking to surface exits, wards against shadow incursions. Goblins taught stealth—silent steps, lock-picking, poison-crafting. In exchange, Ethan bred guild leaders, restoring hope.
Nights belonged to passion.
In glowing crystal caverns, Shadra introduced elite thieves—wiry, scarred from heists. They pleasured him in shadows: one straddling his cock while another ground on his thigh; then switching to asses, tight and eager.
Mind-whispers: More… fill me…
He took them against walls, on moss beds, in underground pools where water amplified every thrust.
One night, in a thief's guild vault filled with stolen treasures, twenty goblins surrounded him—small hands everywhere, mouths sharing his length, bodies piling in compact tangles.
Vaeloria and Liraya joined the pile—fingers and tongues exploring goblin curves; Valyndra's long tongue delving deep into multiples at once.
The pinnacle: a guild-wide ritual in the central cavern. Hundreds of goblin women formed silent circles around Ethan, taking turns—riding slow and deep, begging through gestures for seed.
Shadra orchestrated: lines bent over treasure chests; chains of licking and fingering; piles where Ethan thrust into one as she ate another.
Silent orgasms rippled through the cavern—bodies shaking, eyes wide, nectar pooling on stone.
Ethan spent endlessly, stamina legendary, filling dozens directly, inspiring others in the frenzy.
The alliance sealed: goblins pledged underground networks against shadow, sharing maps of deep flanks. In return, their population would bloom anew.
Departure came after a week—Shadra escorting them to the surface fissure, her belly subtly curving, mind-touch promising many more.
"Return when needed," she whispered silently. "Our shadows are yours."
Eldoria welcomed them with quiet celebration—news of new allies spreading. The underground maps fused with the Artifact, revealing hidden paths.
Healers confirmed: from the Low Valley breeding and inspired surface revels upon return, eighty-nine more women carried his seed—goblins swift to show, Eldorians in passionate aftermath.
Added to the previous two hundred and eighteen, three hundred and seven in total swelled with promise.
Three hundred and seven whispers in the dark, ready to strike.
Ethan gazed at the maps—30% lands left . Ethan has gotten 307 women pregnant during the second cycle.