From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem-Chapter 47: Motherly call!

Bryce had long made peace with the fact that other men had to touch his smoking-hot wife.

Part of the package deal when your woman’s body was a walking stress knot wrapped in curves and sensual hellfire.

He’d scoured the damn place for someone who could handle her muscles without catching fire or fainting from blood loss.

And yeah, sure—he was secure. Solid. Unshakable.

Like, come on.

He knew no one could do shit to her.

Touch her for five minutes and boom—downing potions like water, fighting for their lives as her succubi energy hijacked their brain and balls.

One second they’re horny, next second they’re begging for antivenom.

But now? She’d actually found someone. A gremlin. A little weirdo who could rub her the right way and walk away upright.

And hell, even if it was for a little while, if it made her happy, then damn it—he was happy.

"Well, don’t worry about potions anymore."

Bryce said, stretching his arms, already halfway to food-mode.

"We’ve got that covered. Just wait ’til nightfall. And hey—just call him whenever you want, honey."

He turned to leave the tent, whistling like a man who’d earned his good-husband badge for the day.

"Wait—why’s it covered, Bryce?"

Lyra asked behind him.

"Where’d we get more potions from?"

Bryce paused, looked back over his shoulder, and gave her a wink with a smile that said absolutely nothing.

Then he walked out.

"What the...!"

Lyra stared at the tent flap, utterly baffled.

Meanwhile, outside, Bryce froze mid-step.

His expression twisted, eyebrows pulling together, scratching his head like the gears inside were grinding to life.

"Wait... she said she didn’t want to lie about the massage..."

His eyes narrowed.

"So... what did she lie about, then?"

He blinked.

Paused.

Then shook his head and kept walking—more confused than ever.

...

After scarfing down breakfast—eggs still half-runny, bread still warm—the heroes buzzed with that post-meal, pre-adventure energy.

The rain had packed its bags and left long ago, and now the sun was out, smug and golden, drying the damp earth like nothing had happened.

Inside his cramped little tent, Rae yawned like a groggy cat demon, one hand lazily scratching across his bare stomach, the other swatting at the noise of heroes being way too enthusiastic for this early in the day.

"Ugh... too loud... shut up... adventuring freaks..."

Still half-asleep, he groaned, unzipped the flap, and lazily stuck a leg out, the cool air kissing his ankle.

But then—bam—his eyes landed straight on danger.

Celeste.

She was right there.

Bent over.

Boots unlaced.

Long, snow-pale thighs out on full parade, the curve of her hips screaming perfection, and her perky, winter-blessed tits dangling like sweet, forbidden fruit as she wrestled with her laces.

Rae’s eyes bugged.

His soul left his body.

And his dick? Oh no.

His damn cock, that traitorous beast, broke free like it had a mind of its own—slipped out of the flimsy loincloth and sprang up like it was trying to high-five the gods.

Veiny. Throbbing. Green. Glowing with purpose. The damn thing was nearly chest-height.

"Shiiit!"

Rae panicked, yanked his leg back in like the floor was lava, and scrambled backward, falling on his ass inside the tent like a spooked animal.

He slapped both hands over his crotch, heart racing.

"Forgot! I fucking forgot!"

If he’d walked out just a second later—Celeste would’ve turned, seen the whole damn tower in full salute—and she’d probably have nuked his soul straight out of his body and drop-kicked it into the next dimension.

He exhaled, body trembling.

"Fuck... almost got me murdered by titties..."

He stopped in front of his poor, wrinkled, white underwear hanging like a lifeline on a sad little twig.

He sighed dramatically, hands on his hips like he was greeting an old war buddy.

"Ah... what would I even do without you, huh?"

Thankfully, miracle of miracles—it was dry. If it had been soggy, he’d be stuck scratching his balls every five damn seconds like a flea-ridden mutt. No thanks.

He yanked it up, stuffed his raging green beast into the too-tight fabric.

It fought back, twitching angrily like it had a mind of its own—and after a brief but brutal wrestling match, he emerged victorious.

Barely.

His left nut might’ve died in the process.

"Haaa... ow... worth it."

He stepped out into the bright-ass sun, stretching like he’d just conquered a kingdom.

’What a damn day to be alive.’

He hummed like a carefree gremlin prince, hands behind his head, strutting like the world owed him a blowjob.

Celeste, radiant in her usual ice-queen glory, was fussing over her horse while her goblin companion, Laila, tried to keep up with her sharp commands.

Bryce and Alex were off to the side, deep in man-talk, probably about swords or monster guts or who had the bigger dick—typical hero shit.

Thunder and Grumpy were grumbling like old uncles, packing bags like the apocalypse was nigh.

Good thing Alex didn’t trust Rae with his luggage—smart guy.

Rae would’ve "accidentally" spilled monster lube all over it just for fun.

No extra chores? No complaints here.

Off to the side, Adrian was already roasting poor Stool again, barking orders like a drill sergeant with hemorrhoids.

The poor goblin looked like he was one scolding away from pissing himself and melting into a puddle.

As for Lyra and Melissa?

Gone. Vanished. Not a single boob or booty bounce in sight.

He snickered to himself like a little bastard gremlin who’d just stolen candy from a crying kid.

Oh, it was perfect.

He needed time—time to scheme, to plot, to set the bait. He couldn’t just waltz in there, slap oil on Lyra’s thighs, and call it a day.

Nah.

That wasn’t enough anymore.

Now that she knew—really knew—that only he, the glorious green dong-wielder, could massage her without melting into a pile of bones or exploding from her succubi heat, he had the upper hand.

’She’s gotta beg for it. On her knees. Panting. Whimpering. Telling me I can do whatever I want...’

He smirked at the image, imagining her flushed face, eyes glazed with that delicious mix of frustration and arousal.

Her thighs rubbing together, lips parting, voice barely holding back that sweet little plea.

’And lucky me—she’s half succubi. Shouldn’t even need to try that hard...’

He grinned wider, practically drooling at the thought.

Succubi—the horniest, thirstiest, body-melting creatures ever spat out by the lewd gods themselves.

Even half-bloods carried that heat, that itch under the skin, the kind that needed more than a touch—it needed ruin.

Just then—

"Maya, can you help me here?!"

Melissa’s voice rang from her tent like a mothers’ sweet voice, dragging Maya’s attention.

The goblin girl paused mid-step, a soup pot in hand, still dripping with suds.

She blinked, eyes flicking between the pot and the tent flap, clearly debating whether to obey her mistress now or after finishing her wash.

But then her gaze landed on him.

Rae, standing there like an oversized green snack, paunch stomach half-covered in lazy scratches, grinning like a dumbass who’d just won the jackpot and didn’t know what to spend it on.

.

.

.

Mmm...Is it going to be Melissa’s turn now?