Master Gibblins begins washing the front of Thorabean, taking care and patience the same as when he picks where to strike with his pickaxe.
“You have no marks of valor and only your own clan tattoo,” the master huffs as he washes Thorabean’s belly button. The simple act of swirling the soap around the crest is enough to make Thorabean weak.
Thorabean wishes he knew what to do, what to feel, or how to express his intense yearning for the master. The rumors whispered in the dormitory after lights out are not enough to help him with the complex emotions he is feeling.
Master Gibblins leans close to Thorabean. He kisses his forehead. “I fancy you, Thorabean.”
Thorabean lowers his head. “I fancy you too,” he whispers before crossing his arms to protect himself.
Master Gibblins kneels on the edge of the tub and holds a hand out for Thorabean to take. “Let me show you how a dwarf shows his fancy.”
To Thorabean, the sparkling geode was so beautiful, with the light reflecting and refracting off every surface. Compared to the muscular, rugged Master Gibblins, covered in scars and the passage of time, it pales in comparison. Thorabean takes Master Gibblin’s hand as he helps him step out of the tub. The younger dwarf is so clean now. The layers and years of filth removed, leaving behind a beautiful but unadorned body. Master Gibblins has lecherous thoughts about how he would like to cover that body.
Thorabean blushes as he watches Master Gibblins examining his body. “Well?” Thorabean whispers after what feels like an eternity.
The rugged master Gibblins grabs Thorabean’s waist and pulls him tight to his body; he can feel the dwarf’s erection pressing into his own.
There is a loud banging noise on the door to the geode. Master Gibblin’s ear hair stands up in rage. His wide mustache scrunches up, and he finally lets go of his embrace of the technician. He goes to the door naked as the day he was hatched and spins the wheel, and the door opens. “Who in the hell…” the master says before being slammed against the back wall of the geode.
Thorabean screams as he sees a goblin force its way through the door. “You’re in my territory now, Gibblins…” the goblin says through chomping teeth. His gloved hands were tipped with long, razor-like claws made out of diamond, the edges knapped to atomic sharpness. They scratch the crystalline wall as it passes, moving toward the master dwarf. The goblin’s olive-green skin ripples with muscle.
“Thorabean, RUN!” the master grunts as he looks around for his pickaxe.
Thorabean is overwhelmed; standing naked, he watches the mortal enemy of all dwarves rushing toward the person he wanted to keep touching. He looks to the exit but decides instead to help the master fight.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will deal with the pipsqueak next,” the goblin says and smiles wide, showing row after row of sharp fangs. The goblin raises his hand, ready to swipe at the dwarf.
Master Gibblins sweeps a foot out to knock the goblin down. Instead, the goblin slides on the polished crystalline floor sideways by a foot. “I said run!” the master growls at Thorabean.
Thorabean rushes behind the goblin, reaching for the master’s pickaxe. They grab it and lift it; the weight is intense. Thorabean feels muscles creak as he gets it up in the air. He rushes at the goblin.
The goblin spins and slashes at Thorabean, his naked chest sliced by the whisper-sharp fingers of the goblin. He smiles at the red liquid leaking from the dwarves’ wounds. “You thought you could get me that easily? Hmm? Hmm?” The goblin taunts.
Master Gibblins is enraged and kicks the goblin in the ass, lifting the goblin off the ground to land unstably. The dwarf sees his trusty pickaxe lying on the ground next to Thorabean. “Thorabean! “I told you to run,” he grunts and dives for the pickaxe. Only to have the goblin step on his wrist.
The old dwarf punches upward at where the goblin’s genitals would be if they had any and realizes his mistake as the goblin grabs his other wrist and yanks. He feels a loud pop as his shoulder dislocates.
Thorabean, bleeding, stands and grabs the pickaxe and swings it. The tip glides into the side of the goblin, who turns, looking surprised, and then falls to the ground.
The stillness after the battle is deafening. Thorabean stares at the dead body in the room for a long moment before Master Gibblins stands up and crosses the room to the bleeding Thorabean. He examines the wounds lightly. “Deep, going to need stitches.”
Master Gibblins is now sure that Thorabean will survive; he takes a moment to check his own body over and finds one arm hanging limply. With a horrible grunt, he pops his shoulder back in place. He closes his eyes for a long moment, letting the pain pass before putting on a steady face and turning back to the technician.
He helps the wobbly Thorabean to a seat and sits him down before going to the technician’s bag and pulling out a first-aid kit. He sets about cleaning and closing the wounds. “As a bonus, your chest has more decorations now,” the dwarf says with a small smirk.
“How did that one know where you are? How did it speak? Do you know him? What is going on?” Thorabean starts to hyperventilate, the questions coming just as fast as he can speak them.
Master Gibblins looks over his shoulder with a wince and a grimace at the dead goblin. He kisses Thorabean on the lips. “You’re okay; calm down, technician,” he whispers.
Thorabean winces, but the master’s voice is soothing. It is strange to see such softness from the hard man.
Once the stitches are finished, Gibblins grabs a roll of clean fabric and wraps it around the technician’s chest. The dwarf smiles in approval. “Makes you look fierce,” he compliments, standing up. He holds out his hand. “Now your chest is no longer unadorned!”
“This didn’t go as I hoped,” the wounded technician whispers. He stands up; the world is a little spinny, but he feels ok. “Should we go back?” he gestures to the door that leads back through the complex tunnel system filled with collapses and barely functional pumps.
The master lifts the goblin and throws the body out the door that leads further away from the mining hall. He looks at the body for a moment, steps back, and closes the door tightly. “Is that what you want?” Master Gibblins says confidently, “We could always finish what we started.”
Thorabean is still confused about what it is that they would be finishing but, knowing he was enjoying it, considers it. He touches his chest, the pain intense. “I think we should go back.”
Master Gibblins nods his head sagely. “We will go after I rest,” he says and lies down on the crystal slab. He covers his crotch with his shorts. This is all the blanket the dwarf requires.
Thorabean thinks it looks cold. He looks at the master’s muscular body. “Can I lie next to you, master?” he asks quietly, head lowered.
“Get over here, technician.” The old man pats the stone next to him.
Thorabean pulls out a waterproof blanket and lays it on the cold stone before lying next to his object of desire. The man’s muscular chest rising and falling with each breath was calm, like nothing just happened. Thorabean bites his lip and closes his eyes, exhausted.
Sleep came quickly, and consciousness returned too soon. Thorabean opens his eyes to find Master Gibblins’ strong arms wrapped around him. He blushes brightly.
It is not that dwarves do not touch; they often touch each other. It’s also not that dwarves don’t sleep touching; in fact, puppy piles are common. It’s the fact that Master Gibblins had fallen asleep with his hand wrapped around Thorabean’s privates. He tries to roll over, but the mass of the dwarf holds him in place. He feels things he has never felt before. A deep stirring, an awakening of emotions. He imagines a great steam locomotive thrusting and sliding and chuffing loudly.
The great dwarf’s dwarfhood pressed against cheeks; he shifts and feels it slip between. The technician is shocked and uncomfortable at first, but the heat of the connecting shaft is enticing; his body feels like it knows what to do. He presses back. The master dwarf, still asleep, breathes deep as Thorabean presses the mighty member deeper between his cheeks.
The hand wrapped around Thorabean’s tool squeezes gently as Master Gibblins wakes; he feels the warmth of the technician’s ass on his chisel. And thrusts forward playfully, kissing the back of the smaller dwarf’s neck.
Thorabean moans softly, confused and aroused hard and soft. Some deep instinct makes him roll his hips, and he feels the tip of the dwarf master’s implement part his vagina and press into him.
“Master, what are you doing?” Thorabean asks in alarm as the thick cock head forces its tip into his desperate mineshaft.
Like most dwarves, they have torn the thin membrane at the entrance at some point in their lives. Thorsbean flushes and arches his back as Master Gibblins pumps Thorsbean’s cock at the opposite pace to his own thrust. Inch by inch the master burrows deeper inside the technician.
Thorabean shivers as he feels so many things he has never felt before. He whimpered with each thrust, his belly bulging with each thrust. His breath comes quickly. He doesn’t know what he is supposed to do, but he knows he wants more. His hips slap back harder against the master’s thighs.
Against his master…
Master Gibblins squeezes the innocent dwarf’s thick cock and thrusts into his body, his mind obsessed with the thought of filling his fellow dwarf with the gift of life. Each thrust is slapping hard against their bodies. He feels a growing warmth. His breath grows ragged; he controls himself, stroking Thorabean faster. “Thorabean, it won’t be long,” he grunts.
“Till what?” Thorabean asks in a gasp; he finds his skin tingling and a tightness in his belly.
The stalwart dwarf lets his control go and empties years of pent-up sexual frustration into the no longer virgin dwarven pocket.
Thorabean feels like he is transcending as he shudders and feels the warmth of the dwarf’s cum inside him. He feels something release in him as he orgasms and shoots his cum on the blanket. He lies there, the older dwarf still in him, his muscular cock pulsing softly. Thorabean blushes, the endorphins rushing through his body as he is bred.
