Arthur's breath was heavy as he eased himself back, his body still tense with lingering need.
Beca looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes, her lips parted as though waiting for his decision. Instead of pressing further, he shifted, guiding her by the shoulders until her generous breast was pressed together by his hands.
Her soft gasp filled the barn, her cheeks flaring pink as she realized his intent.
"M-Muuuuh… my breasts?" she whispered, voice trembling but laced with shy delight.
Arthur nodded once, lowering himself between them, his shaft sliding into the deep valley of her breasts.
The warmth of her skin enveloped him instantly, silken and impossibly soft. Beca bit her lip, then eagerly pressed her arms against the sides of her breasts, squeezing them tighter to heighten the sensation for him. His length wasn't fully hidden beneath her breasts — the soft weight of them pressing down, warm and yielding.
"Is this… good?" she asked timidly, her voice hopeful, almost desperate to please.
Arthur let out a low groan, unable to hold back his reaction.
The slickness of her skin and the way her soft flesh molded around his length made it almost unbearable.
"Better than good," he murmured, moving slowly at first, then with stronger rhythm.
Beca's eyes fluttered closed, her lips curling into a tender smile as she felt every movement.
She tilted her head, resting her chin gently atop her breasts, as if trying to fold herself around him just a little more.
"I'm glad… Muuuuh… so glad… my breasts aren't big enough," she whispered, voice trembling with shy pride, as if her softness was meant only for him.
"Don't be sad — your breasts are plenty big. The problem is, I'm just… long." He said it with a soft chuckle, brushing a hand along her side, as if trying to ease her worry with warmth.
Each thrust through her voluptous breasts drew another gasp from her, not of discomfort, but of happiness, her tail flicking behind her in excitement.
She giggled softly, a sound full of warmth and innocence, as though this act alone was enough to make her feel cherished.
Arthur's grip tightened, his hips moving with greater urgency, the slick friction building until every pass left him on the edge of release.
She let out a soft giggle, then traced her tongue along the tip. A jolt shot through him — spine to heel — sharp, electric, impossible to ignore. "Fuck," he breathed, the word slipping out like steam from a cracked pipe.
"Muuuuh…❤️ I can take care of it, look…" Her lips wrapped around him with slow devotion, the warmth almost unreal — soft, enveloping, like sinking into a dream too vivid to resist.
Slrp. Schlk. Slrp. Glk-glk. Mmph.
The sounds filled the quiet room like a rhythm only they understood — wet, steady, shameless.
Arthur's breath caught, his fingers tightening against her horn as heat surged through him.
She didn't rush. She didn't falter. Just that steady, devoted pace, like she was built for this and nothing else.
She paused, lips glistening, and tilted her head with a soft smile. "Is it good? Muuuuh…❤️" she asked sweetly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes—God, yes. Keep going," he breathed, the words escaping like steam.
"Okay dokay," she giggled softly, the sound playful and warm. He felt her breath — hot and tender — ghost over him just before she took him in again, slow and deliberate, like a promise.
Beca felt the heat radiating from him and pressed her breasts even harder around him, her whole body trembling in shared anticipation.
When he finally reached his peak, she gave a small, breathless cry, her eyes shining with joy.
He felt her pause, lips parting just enough to let the warmth spill across him.
A pulse, deep and deliberate, surged through her — and he felt it, every beat, every release.
She drank, slow and reverent, though not every drop was claimed.
A trail escaped, gliding down her chin like molten gold.
Without a word, she pressed her breast against the tip.
Gulp. Gulp.
She swallowed with effort, her throat working visibly as warmth slid down.
"So much, muuuh… I can't drink it all. I'm sorry, Master," she murmured, chin glistening, voice soft with guilt and devotion.
She leaned forward, pressing her chest gently against him, letting the rest drip and settle between them like a quiet offering.
She looked at the mess across her big breasts and face with flushed cheeks, then back at Arthur with the same tender, adoring smile.
"Muuuuh…❤️ you really did take care of me…" she said softly, pride and happiness glowing in her tone.
Beca stayed there with her chest glistening, her breaths quick and uneven, but her eyes sparkled with a kind of innocent joy.
She pressed her hands against her breasts, almost cradling them as if to savor the warmth Arthur had left.
Arthur brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb grazing the curve of her cheek.
"You're… something else," he murmured, not quite sure if it was admiration or disbelief. The warmth between them lingered, thick and quiet, like steam rising from fresh earth.
Becca nuzzled closer, her tail flicking once behind her. "I like when you look at me like that, Master…"
Her voice was soft, but the words hung heavy — a truth wrapped in innocence.
Her tail flicked back and forth, betraying her excitement even as she tried to calm down.
Arthur leaned closer, brushing his hand along her cheek to wipe away a streak on her skin. She looked up at him, lips parted, and gave a soft, almost shy laugh. "
"Muuuuh… was I good for you?" she whispered, her voice full of hope.
"You were more than good," Arthur replied quietly, his tone steady but warm.
"You made me feel… incredible."
Her blush deepened, her body trembling as if his words alone were enough to send shivers down her spine.
She lowered her head for a moment, then pressed it lightly against his chest.
"Then… I want to keep being yours," she said, her tone softer than a breath.
Arthur's hand slipped to the back of her head, fingers tangling gently in her hair.
"You already are," he murmured. "And I'll take care of you, Beca. Always."
Her eyes grew misty at that, and she smiled, biting her lip as she whispered almost too quietly to hear:
"That's all I want… to be cared for… to belong."
Arthur pulled her closer, letting her rest against him as the barn grew silent again.
The only sounds left were her soft sighs and the faint flick of her tail against the straw.
For the first time since she had arrived at the farm, Beca felt safe—truly safe—wrapped in his arms.
"Master… maybe we could…" She pulled her hips back with shy boldness, her voice trembling with desire. "Continue a little more? Muuuuh…"
Arthur's breath caught, the air thick with heat and anticipation — but before he could speak, the barn doors slammed open.
Two goblins tumbled in, breathless and wild-eyed, their excitement practically vibrating off their skin. Becca gasped, startled, and scrambled behind Arthur, clutching his arm with trembling fingers.
"M-master…" she whispered, her tail flicking nervously, ears low and pressed back.
Arthur stepped forward, instinctively shielding her, his eyes narrowing at the intruders.
One goblin waved a crumpled parchment, squealing: "Grrrkh… snrrt!!"
The other bounced in place, hips gyrating in a crude mimicry, shouting: "TBlrrrghh… snik-snik!!"
The first pointed at Becca, then to his own waist, thrusting forward with exaggerated motion. The second joined in gleefully, humping the air like a deranged puppet.
Becca clung tighter to Arthur's back, her voice a soft, frightened moan: "Muuuuh…"
Arthur didn't flinch. His voice came low and firm: "Out, buddies. She's mine. If you want to play, go bother Merlin."
The goblins froze, then exchanged a look — half disappointment, half mischief — before scampering off, parchment flapping behind them like a forgotten prophecy.
Arthur took the paper one of the goblins had dropped in its haste. It was old, yellowed, with scorched edges and the smell of mold. In the center, drawn with rustic, almost childlike strokes, was the image of a woman with curved horns—not unlike Beca's—surrounded by ecstatic goblins, kneeling, touching her, offering fruits, coins, and small glass vials.
Beca peeked over Arthur's shoulder, still hidden behind him. "Moooh… she looks like me…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Arthur frowned. "It's more than a likeness. This… this is a ritual."
In the lower corner of the paper, in crooked, almost faded letters, it read: "She who gives milk and warmth will be adored. The offering will be made. The harvest will be bountiful."
Beca took a step back, her eyes wide. "They want me for this? Moooh…"
Arthur carefully folded the paper, tucking it into his pocket. "They won't touch you. Not without my consent. And not without yours."
She looked at him with moist eyes, but there was something new there—not just fear, but a spark of curiosity. "But… if it's true… if I can be part of all that… what else can I be?"
Arthur looked at the paper one more time, then at Beca, still hiding behind him. "They think you are a key. A symbol. But that doesn't define you."
Beca bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the drawing. "Moooh… if I can bring all this… why not use it?"
Arthur sighed, tucking the paper away firmly. "Because power is not the same as purpose. And you already have one—here, with me."
She rested her head on his shoulder, her tail calming. "Moooh… So… let's keep the map stored. Just for now."
The sun was already hiding behind the hills, painting the sky with shades of copper and violet, when Arthur and Beca headed to the hay shed. It was time to reorganize the bags and prepare the space for the next harvest.
Beca walked beside him, her body still sensitive from the milking, but her gaze was firmer—as if the bond between them had given her a new form of strength. There was something different in her posture: less hesitation, more presence.
But the goblins were nearby.
They emerged little by little, coming out of the shadows like curious rats. Small, misshapen, with wide eyes and pulsating nostrils. Their short feet beat on the ground with restlessness, and their grunts filled the air like a grotesque chorus.
One of them stopped abruptly, sniffing intensely.
"Snrrrk… grrhh…!"
The second one approached, its eyes fixed on Beca, and let out a high-pitched, almost reverent sound—as if it were in front of something sacred.
Arthur frowned. "They sense your heat. I'm sorry, Beca. Maybe you should rest at home."
Beca shook her head, determined. "No, master. I'll stay with you. Moooh."
But even with her voice firm, she instinctively took a step back. Her tail curled, her ears lowered. Arthur noticed the movement and stood in front of her, his gaze hard as stone.
"She's with me. Don't come near."
The goblins looked at each other, excited and frustrated. One of them began to stomp its feet on the ground, as if trying to contain the impulse. Another knelt, muttering disconnected words—guttural and reverent sounds, as if it were in front of a fertile divinity.
Beca clung to Arthur's arm, her breathing accelerated.
"They... they feel it. Like animals. Moooh..."
Arthur squeezed her hand, firm, protective.
"They can feel whatever they want. But they won't touch. Not as long as I don't allow it."
A bolder goblin approached, its eyes shining with ill-contained desire. Arthur looked at it with contempt.
"Come on, buddy. Stop being a nuisance and go get the shovel."
The goblin hesitated, let out a last "Snrrrghk!" and moved away, grumbling.
The tension in the air gradually dissolved, but the bond between Arthur and Beca became more visible—not just of protection, but of something that grew silently between the two, like the heat that remains even after the fire goes out.
The goblins lingered.
Not close enough to provoke, but not far enough to forget. Their eyes flicked toward Becca in intervals — quick, twitchy glances that held a mix of reverence and primal curiosity. One scratched its chest absently, another sniffed the air again, nostrils flaring with a wet squelch.
Arthur didn't move, but his grip on the shovel tightened.
"Eyes forward," he said, not raising his voice. "Unless you want to lose one."
A goblin blinked slowly, then turned its head — not in obedience, but in something resembling sulky compliance. It shuffled toward the haystack, dragging its feet with exaggerated drama, muttering something that sounded like "Grnnn…"
Another goblin, smaller and greener than the rest, crouched nearby and began rearranging straw with a kind of ceremonial care. Every few seconds, it peeked at Becca, then resumed its task with a reverent grunt.
Arthur sighed. "They're not subtle."
Becca gave a soft "muuuh…" and leaned closer to him, her tail brushing his leg. "They're… watching. They really want to breed me."
Arthur glanced down at her, then back at the goblins. "You're not their mate. You're mine."
"If you really wanted it… I could let them breed with me, Master. Moooh…" She lowered her gaze, voice trembling, tail curled tightly around her leg. There was no defiance in her tone — only a quiet offering, heavy with sadness and devotion.
Arthur's jaw clenched. He stepped closer, lifting her chin gently with two fingers. "Don't ever say that again." His voice was low, but sharp — not angry, but protective. "You're not a gift to be passed around. You're mine. And I choose you for you — not for what others want from you."
Her eyes shimmered, lips parting in a soft gasp. "Moooh… I just want to be good for you."
"You already are," he said, pulling her into his arms. And for a moment, the goblins faded into background noise — just shadows in straw, while the bond between them grew stronger than any ritual.
Becca lowered her gaze, voice trembling. "But… if you want it, Master… I'll do it. Moooh."
Before Arthur could respond, one of the goblins let out a strangled squeal — "SKRRRRT!!" — and launched himself three feet into the air like a spring-loaded rat.
He landed with a thud, arms wide, hips already twitching in anticipation. "I'm ready, Master! Just say the word!" he croaked, puffing out his chest and striking a pose that was equal parts mating dance and muscle cramp.
Arthur blinked. "...What."
The goblin pointed dramatically at Becca, then at himself, then did a pelvic thrust so aggressive it knocked over a nearby rake.
Becca squeaked and ducked behind Arthur, tail wrapped tightly around her leg. "Muuuuh! He's vibrating!"
Arthur stepped forward, grabbed a nearby sack of hay, and hurled it at the goblin's face. "Cool off, buddy. Go hump a pumpkin."
The goblin staggered back, hay stuck to his forehead, blinking in confusion. "Pumpkin…?" he whispered, as if considering a new religion.
Another goblin clapped slowly in the background, clearly impressed.
Becca giggled softly, peeking out from behind him. "You're funny when you're angry, Master."
Arthur glanced back at her, then at the goblins now arguing over who gets the pumpkin. "I'm not angry. I'm just surrounded by idiots."
One goblin let out a low, drawn-out "Hrrrrgh…" — a sound that could've meant anything from admiration to indigestion. It tilted its head, then slowly adjusted its rags, as if trying to look more presentable.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Don't even think about it."
The goblin froze mid-adjustment, then resumed stacking hay with exaggerated innocence.
Another goblin, the one who'd knelt earlier, was now drawing something in the dust — a crude symbol, circular and squiggly, with what looked like two large dots in the center. Arthur squinted.
"Is that supposed to be her?"
The goblin looked up, blinked once, then nodded solemnly.
Arthur remained firm, his gaze fixed on the goblins still squirming in front of him. One of them, skinnier and with bulging eyes, began to stomp his feet harder, as if the ground itself could help him contain the urge.
Another, more corpulent and with slightly trembling pointed ears, approached with slow, exaggeratedly cautious steps. Its eyes darted to Beca from time to time—not with malice, but with a kind of bovine fascination.
Arthur crossed his arms. "Eyes on me, buddy. Not on her."
The goblin stopped, blinked slowly, and let out a low growl: "Snrrgh… hnnn…"
Beca squeezed Arthur's arm tighter, her tail tucked in, her body tense. "Moooh… they look at me as if I were… food."
Arthur sighed. "You're milk, not dinner. And they know it."
"Like I said before — they don't want to eat you. They don't see you as food. They just want to fuck you."
Arthur's voice was low, almost bitter, not out of cruelty but out of frustration with the goblins' primal obsession. Becca flinched slightly, her cheeks flushing, tail curling tighter. "Muuuuh…" she murmured, eyes wide, unsure whether to feel ashamed or desired.
Arthur softened his tone, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But that doesn't mean they get to. You're not theirs. You're mine — and I decide what happens to you. Not them. Not instinct."
A third goblin, smaller and covered in moss, suddenly knelt, raising its hands as if it were before a divinity. "Grnnn… Moooh… snik-snik…" It began to lightly bang its head against the ground, in a gesture that seemed part ritual, part desperation.
Arthur looked at it with weariness. "Are you praying or trying to dig a hole?"
The goblin stopped, looked up, and let out a sound that resembled a choked sob. "Krrrgh… moooh…"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Great. Now they're imitating you."
Beca let out a nervous little laugh, still clinging to his arm. "They are… strange."
"They're goblins," Arthur replied. "Strange is the standard."
One of the goblins, the first one that had moved away, returned with a shovel in its hands—holding it as if it were an offering. It extended the object with reverence, its eyes still frequently darting to Beca.
Arthur took the shovel with a nod. "Thank you. Now, stay busy. Dig, pile, do goblin things. Just don't drool."
The goblins dispersed slowly, still casting furtive glances at Beca, but obeying. One of them let out a final grunt—"Snrrrk… moooh…"—before disappearing behind a mound of hay.
Arthur looked at Beca, who was still trembling slightly. He carefully touched her cheek.
"They won't touch you. Not while I'm here."
Beca nodded, her eyes shining with relief. "Moooh… I know."
And while the goblins dug and murmured in their strange language, Arthur and Beca headed to the back of the shed—where work awaited them, and where, between bags of hay and rusty tools, the warmth between them continued to grow.
"Stop saying that. You're starting to make me angry." Arthur's voice was low, tight with emotion. "Understand this — your mouth, your body, your pussy… they're mine. Only mine."
Becca's breath caught, her eyes wide, cheeks flushed. She didn't speak, but the way she leaned into him said everything.
Becca looked up at him, eyes still shimmering, her tail slowly uncurling. Arthur's hand lingered on her cheek, warm and steady.
Then, softly — like a bell in mist — she laughed. Just a little giggle, bright and unguarded. "Muuuuh…" she murmured, smiling. "You're so serious when you care."
Arthur exhaled, a hint of a smile tugging at his own lips. "Someone has to be."
And as the goblins muttered and shuffled in the background, Becca leaned into him, her laughter still echoing faintly — like sunlight breaking through straw-dusted shadows.