From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem-Chapter 46: Its Just A Pinky Finger!!!

"Ah, well... uh..."

Lyra stammered, cheeks already lit up like a furnace. And the moment Bryce caught that flustered, bashful face of hers, he lost it.

"Ha ha ha! You—you saw a gremlin wee wee! Hah! Oh gods—ha ha!"

He doubled over, clutching his stomach, practically wheezing with laughter.

"It wasn’t on purpose!" she blurted out, pouting like a kid caught red-handed. "It was just there! Just—bam! Out in the open!"

Her whole face was red now—ears, neck, even her collarbones were glowing. She had no idea how to respond to this teasing.

It wasn’t like she asked to witness the gremlin’s... oversized anomaly. It happened so fast, she barely had time to process what the hell she was looking at.

"Well, come on."

Bryce said between chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye.

"You’re walking around with that hot, smoking body like it’s nothing. Did you really think gremlins don’t have any urges?"

"I thought Celeste suppressed all that stuff!" Lyra shot back, throwing her hands up. "That’s what I was told!"

Whatever Rae had flashed her last night was not standard-issue gremlin. That thing—that thing—was not a "wee wee."

It was a damn weapon. Veiny, thick, hypnotic in the worst possible way. Like it was calling to her. Whispering sinful things. Haunting her brain.

It was nightmare fuel.

It was dream fuel.

And it completely destroyed her ability to sleep.

All night long, her mind had been looped on repeat—that cock, that heat, that impossible twitching monster, and the throbbing ache that had bloomed traitorously between her legs like a damn heat trap.

Yeah. She was pretty sure that was the real reason she didn’t sleep.

Not the rain.

Not the cold.

Just pure, unfiltered, horny hell.

"Well, I think," Bryce said, tapping his chin like a fake philosopher, "those creatures are the horniest damn things after succubi in this entire world.

"So no matter what kind of spell’s used to suppress their urges, their instincts? Still screaming breed, breed, breed."

Lyra blinked. "You mean..."

"Yes. It must’ve been a subconscious reaction to seeing your naked-ass body. Like—bam! Suppressed instincts suddenly waking up. Maybe Rae didn’t even realize it himself."

He stroked his non-existent beard like he was solving an ancient puzzle.

"No matter how sure-shot a spell is, there’s always an anomaly. And in this case? It’s definitely Rae."

That gave Lyra pause. Her mind started spinning.

’Is it really like that? Like... subconscious? He didn’t even know he had a boner?’

But then she remembered.

That look.

That sharp, focused gaze when he mentioned the "second advance." The way his eyes had dropped to her lips, slowly, hungrily.

’No. No fucking way. That wasn’t some clueless, innocent gremlin boner.’

There was intelligence there. Purpose. Predator written all over those glowing eyes.

He knew.

She was sure he knew.

Then Bryce, still casually running his mouth, dropped something that made her spine stiffen and her thighs instinctively press together.

"You’re lucky his feelings were suppressed. Just imagine what he would’ve done to you if they weren’t."

Gulp.

Her throat dried instantly. Her legs tensed, heat crawling up her spine.

What would Rae have done to her if his feelings hadn’t been sealed away?

That big, veiny, throbbing monster between his legs would’ve been inside her, ruining her in no time—pounding her senseless, probably folding her in half like a helpless little toy.

’Is... is sex really as good as they say...?’

She swallowed hard.

She didn’t know.

She was still—tragically—an eternal virgin. Just secondhand stories, overheard moans, steamy gossip behind closed doors.

And sure, she’d peeked. Who wouldn’t? Growing up in a damn succubi village, it was like walking through a live porn set every other night.

But still...

’No way. None of the dongs I’ve seen were that big. Not even close. Even Bryce’s...’

Her eyes—traitorous little things—slid down. Right to her husband’s pants. Flat. No bulge. Not even a twitch.

Damn.

"By the way," Bryce said, trying way too hard to sound casual, "was it... uh... big...?"

"Huh?" Lyra blinked, caught in the middle of her horny downward spiral.

"Rae’s dong. Was it... you know... big?"

He didn’t look at her. Just whistled low, scratched the back of his head like the answer didn’t matter—but the way his ears turned red told another story.

Lyra stared at him for a second.

’Shit. I can’t say the truth. That beast was at least the size of my forearm. I can still feel the memory of it pressing against the inside of my brain.’

So like a good, loving wife—who didn’t want to crush her man’s ego into dust—she lifted her hand and sweetly raised her pinky finger.

Just a tiny little pinky.

’I-I don’t want him to feel bad... or insecure...’

Even if the truth was currently burned into her memory like a living curse.

"It’s... smaller than you..."

Lyra muttered, trying to sound convincing.

But instead of the smug, puffed-up reaction she was expecting, Bryce’s face fell. Like, full-on tragic disappointment.

’What the fuck?!’

Her brain practically screamed. Why are you looking so damn heartbroken?!

"Th-that big..."

He whispered, eyes locked in utter betrayal—not on her face, but on the goddamn pinky finger she’d just raised.

She looked at the raised finger, then at her husband, then back to the finger.

’It’s just a freaking pinky!’

She almost yelled it aloud.

’Just a harmless little pinky! Not even curved!’

She didn’t need to yank down his pants to know his size anymore. His reaction had said it all. Loud and limp.

Panicking, she tried damage control.

Shook her head real fast, like no no no, not that small, then casually slid her thumb up her pinky. Just to the lower knuckle.

Nothing. His expression barely twitched.

So up the thumb went. Middle knuckle.

Still no reaction.

Up.

And up.

Until her thumb reached the upper knuckle of her pinky, and only then did Bryce let out a long, shaky sigh and clutched his chest like she’d just saved him from a near-death experience.

"Man," he muttered, puffing up his chest, "what did I expect? That thing’s a gremlin. I’m still surprised something that big can even fit inside his tiny-ass body."

Then, as if to reassert his manhood to the gods themselves, Bryce flexed his bulging muscles and laughed—deep and loud, like he’d just conquered a kingdom.

"This Bryce power, baby. That little gremlin can’t beat this."

He winked.

Lyra almost rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

This man had been all gloom and doom the last few days—even yesterday, before they entered the forest.

Only after slaying a horde of monsters did his smile finally come back.

Lyra sighed.

’If a freaking pinky made him feel threatened, imagine if I told him the truth...’

The real truth.

That Rae’s beast was the size of her forearm—throbbing, veiny, a deep jungle green with a thick, dark red and violet crown like it was forged in some infernal realm.

And the thorns—fuck, the thorns—delicate little ridges wrapping around the shaft like some kind of royal vine, as if his cock had been crowned by the gods themselves.

Lyra’s mind took a hard left and nosedived straight into filth.

She suddenly imagined what those thorns might do inside her.

Her thighs clamped shut like a trap, her body twitching with a heat she didn’t ask for.

She cursed herself, cursed her damn succubi blood, cursed that stupid horny gremlin.

"By the way, Lyra," Bryce said, breaking the silence, his voice more serious now, "since I know he’s alive and well... did you enjoy it?"

He said it with no smirk. No teasing. Just a straight, piercing question.

"En-enjoy? What! No! No! What do you think I am?!"

She shouted, face flaming, heart pounding.

"I’m not that kind of woman!"

But even as the words left her mouth, her brain was still playing reruns of Rae’s pulsing cock like it was her personal nightly horror show. Or porn. Or both.

’Ugh, shut up, brain. It’s just the blood. Succubi instincts. Totally not me. I’m innocent. Right...?’

Bryce, meanwhile, just deadpanned:

"The massage, woman. The damn massage."

"Oh."

"..."

"..."

"Uh...actually..." she muttered, dropping the act. "You know what? For the first time... I felt something. Like real warmth. Like... something in that touch that made my legs melt."

She looked up at him, biting her lower lip.

"Bryce. It’s true. I don’t want to lie to you."

His face softened. Then bloomed into a wide, genuinely happy smile.

"That good?"

She nodded slowly.

"Yeah... that good."

"So it’s just like I said, huh?"

Bryce nodded to himself like a smug bastard, proud that he’d called Rae an anomaly before anyone else.

"Knew it."

"It wasn’t that long."

Lyra said, a little dreamy.

"What with the potions running low and all... But gods, it was the first time I got a real, continuous massage. No dramatic pauses for wheezing, no random coughing up blood or awkward burps—just smooth, warm hands working magic on my tired body."

Her voice was practically purring. Bryce grinned, his chest swelling with secondhand joy.

Honestly, he’d made peace with the whole "other men touching his smoking-hot wife" thing ages ago...