Fate Deals the Cards Temperance

  Chapter 18

  A Jagged Crown

  As dawn approached, I wandered down into my garden; to work out with my little knights and then hide from the sun in my lair.

  To my surprise, some of the witches were still there, and a few were stretching with my knights, following Saphie’s orders with the kids. The eldest still sat in her furs, watching, but Violet, Sarafina and another I didn’t recognize were there, preparing to join my lessons.

  Jameela lurked in the corner with a robed woman who watched everything from a distance with keen, inquisitive eyes.

  I ignored them, as I put on my awful trunks and got to work on what I was rapidly finding to be the most satisfying part of my new life. Passing on my lessons felt like a nod to my unnamed and forgotten sensei; bless his spiky haired handsome ass. It felt good, and I could feel my own skills growing a little every day.

  Dancing the spear brought warm feelings and faint memories of that pale, red-haired muse to my mind as well. They were more like faint visions than memories, drifting sensations of scent, touch and music filled my mind as we twirled together, but so far apart…

  That lost life I’d forgotten never felt closer than when I was teaching my daughters the arts of another time, another place, another race. I remained inside my boundary all that day and the next night, roaming my new and expanded territory and just trying to remember what it felt like to be…

  The events of the last few days had changed me… that was an unavoidable fact. Now I needed to decide how much I was going to allow the event… how I was going to allow them to change me. What happened to me was not an ‘event’ or an accident, not even a crime, by the standards of this world…

  As things went for goblin-kind, it was business as usual. Some died, some were killed, most were traumatized and everyone was tangled up in a nasty mess of incompatible and unlikely fuck-ups.

  So, typical goblin stuff. I could adapt and embrace it, or take my lumps and fight. If this was my new world, I was not going to be putting up with that kind of bullshit. Old Ghnash wasn’t going to be changing very much at all, I decided.

  I left those thoughts on the lawn for meditation practice and breath control exercises, before letting myself just go nuts for music time.

  My new turtle banjo was a big hit with the kids, sending them spinning wildly, their instruments largely forgotten as they danced to ‘Blackberry Wine’ and ‘Turkey in the Henhouse’ until dawn drove me inside.

  Down in my lair, my basket of tummytime charms was empty… completely bare. I had made a bunch of extras, while Sarafina and I were figuring out how long they could be expected to last, now they were all gone.

  I had a good idea where they went and I didn’t really mind… but I kinda felt like I’d been violated again, if only in a very small way. My girls had no doubt passed them out to their friends who no doubt needed the trinkets desperately. I gathered that the last months of winter, when the babynot roots ran out and males were hard to find in the wilds were always difficult for the wild tribes.

  Shaking off those feelings was tough, so I put them to work, making more tummytime charms; since I had plenty of materials and there were a lot of uncomfortable, horny girls out there. The day was halfway over before I realized it; I was boner free… and had been for a while.

  /

  “Typical male.” Hessen spat and hissed, as the tiny, cock shaped fetish of clay slowly hardened, even as she shaped it in her hands… She had a good quantity of his babygoo, scraped from her tribe members’ thighs and dug from the polluted soil of the breeding site, but it burned out so fast!

  She set her limp, pathetic, saggy, clay mockery of a cock down and began shaping another, even while the previous work became erect and baked itself into a proudly rock-hard, green ceramic dick, gleaming in the firelight.

  “Send an apprentice for more clay… and mix more spunk in the next batch.” She sighed, as her hex working dragged on and on in the face of that monster’s obscene virility.

  “What will we do with all of these?” Lilly asked softly, her voice full of wonder and desire as she gazed at dozens of colorful little glazed ceramic goblin cocks. They lay scattered in the sun, a rainbow of hues, mostly green but many others as well. “Can I has one?”

  “Nub care…” Heather sighed, exhausted and covered with clay dust, as she dumped another basket of the shiny little peckers on the pile.

  “I already has one.” Mother Hessen’s senior apprentice muttered, as the witch squalled from her lodge, calling for more clay and more jizz. Heather patted the little trinket in the medicine pouch around her neck, slowly filling her loins with an ease and warmth that made her smile. The witch kept working her curse, desperately trying to break the goblin man’s absurd vitality with her hexes and arts. Mother Hessen hadn’t suffered tummytime in so long, she never noticed the waste product’s surprising effect.

  Girls swarmed from all around, snatching up one or two of the tiny, hexed objects before scuttling away, giggling madly and calling to friends and kin to come take one.

  /

  I felt vigorous, light on my feet and super relaxed, as I blazed through projects that had stymied me for weeks and solved problems that had seemed impossible the day before.

  I solved my glue and varnish problems with a little bit of inspired experimentation, got a solid start on actual milled lumber in my woodworking efforts, by crafting an adze blade and a plane ‘iron’ from crawdaddie pincers. They were hard and sharp, replaceable and inexhaustible, since the bastards were everywhere and also delicious.

  Hours later, sunset tickled my spine, drawing me out into the fresh air and starshine, where I truly belonged, where my daughters waited for me...

  My junk remained nicely calm through the whole session and a calming bath with my wives. Alba took the lead under Sarafina’s instruction, gently bathing every inch of me with tender care.

  They worked as a team to massage me into a soft, pliable mess, without disturbing the blessed peace I was finally enjoying downstairs. They spread me out on the lawn to dry; with Emmie and Alba laying on either side of me, resting their heads on my belly as I relaxed and watched the stars wheel.

  “Is chief still tired? Hurts somewhere?” Emmie asked softly, after a while.

  “Nub. Feel good. Peace.” I answered, having no trouble concentrating on my speech, with so much less on my mind.

  I giggled and squirmed a few heartbeats later, when Emmie’s familiar hand grabbed me and shoved me in her mouth. The feeling of her hand on me while I remained soft was intriguing, just as the sensation of her eager and delighted mouth stuff was super enjoyable.

  Little Ghnash firmed up and saluted, but he didn’t leave me dizzy, confused or half mad with lust, I just felt good, while a beautiful goblin yummied down on me like a champ. “Mother Sarafina… is this right?” Emmie asked the elder gobb, before diving back in.

  Soon, Sarafina was there as well, poking and playing with me as if I were a surprising new insect found in the lair. “Yes, child… I think he’s broken. This is concerning!”

  “Is nub right, not at all.” Emmie agreed, ignoring me entirely. I craned my neck to look up, and the two ladies were deep in a discussion, leaving me to my own devices.

  I shrugged, and began handling my bid’ness with the well honed skills of a man who’d died a virgin once already. I leaned back, unselfconscious with these women and pleasured myself very slowly, enjoying not feeling claustrophobic with desperation and urgency for once.

  I opened my eyes when another hand joined mine, while Emmie and Sara were still gabbing on the edge of the nest. Alba’s small pale claws wrapped around me, not for the first time; but it was the first time she’d taken any initiative at all, especially without the others encouraging her.

  I met her eyes and smiled, before slowly taking my right claw from my cock and gently stroking her soft, pale back as she tentatively caressed me. I placed my left hand over both of hers and gave a little gentle guidance, while my right slowly roamed farther down her back and flanks, petting her softly and offering encouragement.

  Gently, carefully we drew closer together, as her fear melted away, replaced by a warm, slow and patient need we both shared and explored together, while the others argued about something stupid.

  “He never smells of much, until he begins rutting but now there’s not even that scent… I don’t understand what’s changed.” Sara mumbled softly.

  “He nub smells right! And nub has any…” She ground her hips together fiercely and grunted. “Is nub like chief, is strange!”

  “Perhaps he will recover soon, he seems well otherwise, we shall have to observe him.” Sara concluded, as they turned back to the subject of their discussion; who was flat on his back, with Alba straddling his face and happily gobbling the chief's staff with a gleeful song in her heart.

  The chief’s claws gently clenching her bottom and his long, agile tongue flying around her tender nethers probably had a lot to do with her positive attitude.

  “Chief probably fine.” Emmie admitted a moment later. “I calls nexties!”

  /

  Hessin collapsed on her nest, long after night fell, haggard, exhausted, her fingers pruney and bleeding from molding so much clay… and her lodge absolutely reeked of man spunk!

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Blood bane’s waning curse, Ghnash Whar’rgh!” She spat another forbidden hex at that damned male, only to feel it collapse and wither, before taking root, stymied by that damned aura and barrier.

  Even if he had hidden his true name, her curses always struck and never left traces… just as no-gobb had ever bested her in combat before. The damned male fought like one of those accursed Adventurers! She would need a dozen blooded warriors to slay him and then, who could say, once blood began flowing?

  “Poison perhaps…” She whispered as sleep finally took her down and her last small fetish grew, stiffened and baked itself into a bright green ceramic dick on her worktable.

  /

  Alba squirmed under me and moaned as I slowly slipped into her at last; so warm and so welcoming… so right! Her claws raked my shoulders with a delicate and gentle touch, as we shared a moment of absolute trust and serene oneness, our first… and it was marvelous.

  Her final gasp of pleasure and three taps on my shoulder said she was exhausted and it was Emmie’s turn. Alba gasped as I withdrew from her, followed by a slow and satisfied sigh as I dribbled down her thighs.

  My mate gave the chief’s staff a good long sniff and a lick, then shrugged. “Alba likes, let’s try it.” She muttered, sounding a little dubious. She shoved me onto my back and mounted up, wriggling and writhing until I was finally back home; or, as far as I could safely get, with company in her belly.

  “Hmm! Tame Ghnash is safe!” Emmie complained softly. “Come on chief! Make me a little scared!” She hooked her claws into my hips and squatted just a little more, daring me to try. When I only nudged her in return, she grunted unhappily.

  Emmie climbed off and laid herself beside me, her arms around me and sighed softly. “Ghnash needs to get better soon. Emmie needs whole chief.”

  “I think this is good-good!” Alba purred warmly from my other side. “So good-good!”

  I lay there as we cuddled, two women, so different and with such different needs and desires… A guy would have to be a whole army of different men. to keep up with a harem of girls like these.

  I chuckled at the idea of having a legion of different masks to wear, a persona for every purpose and for each special girl. I closed my eyes, considering my current state and wondered. Something had changed, it certainly had to do with my capture and prolonged abuse, but I had been captured and abused by worse, for far longer and more violently, I was sure of that.

  I wasn’t certain when or by whom I’d been… attacked, but the boiling, icy rage in my guts said this was familiar territory and my recent captors were raw noobs at the fine art of fucking up my shit. To the point where, after the initial shock wore off, I felt little anger or rage toward them.

  It was all pointed at the light cult, and that was my north star.

  I took a deep, slow breath, working my well practiced arts, seeking a balance, only to find it was already there! I wasn’t balanced…

  Someone was balancing me! Like a ball on a seal’s nose, or a clown on a unicycle, I was being manipulated through a subtle and sneaky thread of magical… something, running up my ass and hooking into my prostate. That slow, steady tug on my insides wasn’t physical, it was metaphysical; draining my vitality to work some occult task.

  The curse was sneaky, concocted of my own essence and bodily humors and I had a solid guess which one they were using and where they’d gotten a ‘sample’ for this nasty trick.

  I could have clenched my spiritual butthole and pinched the thread off, now that I’d found it; but that would make finding the other end more troublesome.

  My furious brain skipped right over my metaphysical asshole and occult sphincter, just accepting that was the deal, like it was old news.

  Whatever kind of witch or wizard my dead self had been, he’d been seriously weird. I resolved that I was not going to be any kind of turd mage or piss wizard. That was certain… though, I was kinda headed that way already. Goblin life.

  I followed that gentle tug on my ass out of the house and over a hill, down in a dell that was almost pitch black, under the trees. My very special booty friend was down there, tugging at Emmie’s tushie and messing with my mojo like it was the thing to do. That called for a paddling, and I had a shiny new paddle, freshly upgraded on my workbench and ready to test.

  I smelled them, goblin women, several of them in the trees, most sleeping. I heard a few making love and smelled one taking a dump nearby, but most were inactive in the middle of the night.

  A lodge of runties slept nearby, all together in a warm smelling pile. That cooled my rage a little; whoever they were, whatever they’d done, there were kids nearby. I slipped through the camp silently, pleased anew at my neutral, uninteresting scent. Goblins were always sneaky little shits, I just took that a little farther than the usual gobb.

  I followed that thread of intrusive magic to a low, wide lodge on the far side of the hidden camp, at least three times larger than any other burrow, but occupied by only a single sleeping goblin.

  When I drew near, I felt the thread I was following branch off into ever finer cords, running here and there across the hillside and far beyond. Dozens, maybe a hundred of the cobweb fine threads of spellwork, each leading to a miniscule piece of me, scattered across the camp and across the hills. The vast majority of the strands still led to the lodge, more accurately, right behind it.

  I crept around the low bower and over to the strange mass of gently tugging witchery that kept drawing my senses and paused, feeling just a whole bunch of things.

  On a rubbish pile, among empty bug carapaces, animal bones, fragments of hides and broken pottery; a small heap of tiny, colorful objects sat, scattered under the starlight.

  Each one was a perfect ceramic sculpture of my erect cock, in miniature brightly glazed in all the varied colors of the rainbow… mostly green.

  I knew it was my dick, because each one hummed and thrummed in my aura with a faint sense of being totally my damn dick… and they were all hard, horny and happy, each one.

  Which is super weird, let me tell you.

  Quietly, I gathered up each of the many micropenises and sacked them up in a croc skin satchel. I wasn’t sure what shoving so many magical cock fetishes into my shadow might do to me, but I didn’t wanna find out! I suspected I might become a danger to everyone around.

  I slipped into the lodge and gathered a half dozen of the things on a table there and slipped out in utter silence, left Hessen to her well earned rest and returned home… giggling like a deranged goblin witch-doctor with a whole new bag of toys.

  With my horde of dicks secured, I could still feel a connection to the witch in the lodge. Each individual pecker was a curse of impotence, meant to drop my dick and leave me permanently limp. Concocted of clay and my own spunk, they were inextricably part of me, if only a tiny part; the kind of part I would happily give away to a friend or lover… but these had been stolen. That pissed me off and I was already pissed.

  My own vital energies powered the hex, draining my potency to maintain the connection, but like every hex or curse, it needed a little bit of the caster’s magic to remain viable. Just like they contained my spunk, each one had a few cells of her skin from when she’d shaped them, or a tiny droplet of her sweat, linking us, inextricably.

  That’s why curses seldom survive the caster and shouldn’t be just thrown about, especially at strange witches... I had a whole bag of dicks, a mad piss-mage’s sorcerous otherworldly spells, strange occult knowledge and my own bad intentions. I may have released a wild, howling laugh of evil joy or two into the deepest night, where only I would hear.

  /

  “Mother Hessen? Are you well?” Heather asked carefully; mother could be cranky some mornings. She had been moaning and clutching her belly in her sleep since long before dawn.

  “By the outer gods…” She moaned and writhed, clutching her guts and gasped as a massive cramp convulsed her insides, shaking her whole being to her core. That familiar, almost forgotten sensation came roaring back after so many years, savaging her whole lower half without mercy.

  “Impossible…” A quick grope down below proved the impossible; she, a veteran witch, was suffering tummytime; savagely too!

  It gripped her like an ogre’s fist, crushing her insides with a desperate need. A need she had rejected so long ago that she barely remembered ever considering one of those things as an option.

  “Find me some babynot tea, Heather! Tell no one of this!” she hissed desperately, as her insides wracked and wrecked her again.

  /

  The little pricks were fascinating… Each one was a magical proxy for my actual reproductive organ, intended to divert my vitality into the energies needed to power the curse. It wasn’t supposed to do anything beyond that, but magic is a form of energy, such things can’t be created or destroyed, only changed from one state to another or redirected… and it was my magic, after all.

  Even the small amount of my vitality each one drained was enough to create a resonance with the spooge and clay dongs, making them spiritually and magically active, in some unintended ways.

  The girls loved small, shiny objects. They also, when in the grip of tummytime, really liked dick; even the ones who hated how much their bodies made them just adore dick. The little peckers had been irresistible to the girls, so shiny and cute. They were all over, traded and worn as ornaments, kept as keepsakes generally enjoyed.

  Things we like, things we carry with us can become a part of us in some interesting ways, especially magical things. They tend to adhere to the people that carry them, particularly things that are cherished or delight the senses of the owner.

  Magic is energy, the energy produced by living, sentient minds and it responds to those same forces in natural ways, when influenced by a conscious, sentient Will. Those energies only become ‘magic’ when a mind shapes and directs it, even if the mind involved has no awareness of what it’s doing. More minds, tuned to the same frequencies and ideas only creates more energy, like a dance hall under the spell of a tight band and some bumptuous tunes.

  Take around a hundred, horny, hormonal, magical beings, say… goblins suffering tummytime. Add in a collection of shiny trinkets enspelled with cock magic and virile essence, soak those overnight in the mingled desires and dreams of all those girls and magic isn’t a possibility, it’s an inevitability.

  It took a while for the girls to notice, as their cramps and pains eased, becoming faint, then fading away overnight as the curse redirected their pains and discomfort, just as it was intended to redirect my energies. I just happened to have a ridiculous surplus of life energy, which was highly compatible with the vast forces swirling around the hills.

  The whole conclave woke up feeling relaxed, comfortable and pretty positive in general… except mother Hessen.

  All I’d needed was some of the same clay, a bit of my spooge, blood and spit, a braided thong of my hair and some sculpting.

  I rather liked my little toy, when it was done. One of my little dicks dangled from a cord of my own hair, suspended at the moist, voluptuous entrance to a plump, well rounded clay doll. She was posed in a lascivious position of welcome, legs flung wide and exquisitely detailed, if I do say so myself.

  Even the lightest breeze or movement would set the dangling dingus to tickling her tenders, which were all tangled up with so many identical spellworkings, all active and potent, all around the widely scattered conclave.

  As any mage can tell you, workings crafted together and of the same materials remain linked, spiritually, which is why mages never ever mass produce anything, especially anything dangerous.

  Batch cooking curses aimed at a single target is a dangerous and desperate move; one that might pay off in unexpected ways, if the target is a canny witch. Now when my dangler diddled the dolly’s divot, each and every one of those scattered, cherished and magically active cocks gave Hessen a little goose in her suddenly very sensitive caboose.

  The occult energies harnessed by my naughty executive desk toy replaced what was being drawn from me, as the dangler took my place in the spell, completing the curse without me. Who says there’s no such thing as a free lunch?

  It felt very… balanced, as a solution. She’d given me the clue I needed to rein in my galloping steed and set herself up for a spectacular fall. At the same time, she’d also saved me days of work creating my tummytime amulets, since her fetishes did the same job.

  I restrained my urge to rip out her liver and let her watch me laugh as she died in her own blood and entrails. I would only be able to enjoy that revenge once…

  This was a self own that was going to break her will; and I was in possession of the only thing that could relieve her symptoms.

  I’ll admit, the thought got me hard.

  /

  The day was half gone before that worthless slaggard Heather got back with the babynot tea. Hessen gagged on the foul, acrid and acidic brew and grimaced when she drained the cup to the dregs.

  She sat back, waiting for relief that never arrived. Her guts wrenched her sideways, then doubled her over, demanding that she find a stiff goblin and ride him hard. Another spasm took her a moment later, unstopping her bowels and polluting her nest, as the witch squirmed and writhed in agony. She lay in her own filth, spread-eagle and praying to the outer gods for death, or a cock… or death by hard, stabbing cock.

  “Oh, the times, they are a-changin’.” Sarafina’s filthy male crooned from the entrance to her lodge, somehow managing to sing through that nightmare of teeth and fangs.

  “It’s a little bit me, and a little bit you!” Once again he sang his words, taunting her as he prowled around her filthy nest and smiled. He strummed a stringed instrument and sang in a raspy, crooning tone that shook the tormented witch to her core.

  If you want my body and you think I'm sexy,

  Come on, honey, tell me so!

  If you really need me just reach out and touch me,

  Come on, sugar let me know!

  “A blight on you! Poxes and fluxes!” She spat, her curses failing to strike home just as before.

  He smiled and shook his head.

  Try, try, try to understand,

  That I'm a magic man!

  He belted out that line, driving his instrument too hard. A string snapped with a sour twang, as he bit his lip, drawing a gout of blood into his mouth.

  “Shit.” He grumbled, as his instrument vanished. “Had a whole thing planned.”

  /

  Even with my newfound equilibrium, I had reached too far and tried too much. I had just too damn many teeth! When I bit myself, I cut a string and that was the end of my set-list. The show must go on, so I smiled and put myself back together while she had an awful time.

  The witch glared at me then rolled over, lifting her filthy, dripping backside up for my approval. “Very well… Come stick that in me! You win, you disgusting clown.” Hessen barked, then vomited as another wracking cramp took her for a ride.

  “Eww, gross.” I muttered around the rag holding my lip together. “No chance.”

  “NO! You must! Do your duty, pig! You cannot refuse!” She screamed, her backside still raised high.

  “Ghnash decides who he rides. You are nub-good for bedding. Refused.” I left without another word, as her wails and shrieks shook the heavens above.

  /