Home for Horny Monsters

*Hey all! Annabelle here with this third installment for you. As long as you keep showing me love in the comments and ratings, I will keep adding to the story.*

Chapter 03: Squatter's Rights

"Monsters. The guy who built this house collected monsters." Mike sat on the edge of the tub, Naia wrapping bandages around the deeper cuts on his body. He wore only his boxers, having stripped away his clothing. He was grateful that the bushes had caught him, but a bit miffed that they had taken their price in flesh.

"Yep. It started as an academic thing, but he had a really big heart. The world was changing too quick for us monsters to adapt, so he rescued as many of us as he could." Naia rubbed some Neosporin into a cut on his leg. Nymphs could do a lot of things, but healing magic was not one of them. "While there are people out there who would kill for the magic hidden in this house, the monsters here are a magical goldmine."

"How so?" He asked.

"Hard to answer. For instance, it wouldn't be hard to hold a nymph hostage and demand that she share her gifts. Cecilia's gifts wouldn't be worth much, because banshees only appear before someone dies, generally."

"Wait." Mike grabbed Naia's hand. "What do you mean banshees only appear before someone dies?"

"Cecilia is different. She'll appear to the owner of the house-it doesn't mean anything. She and Emily used to sit out there and watch the sunset a lot of evenings. Nobody needed to die, so don't worry about it." Naia dabbed some more Neosporin on his leg before wrapping it.

"Who built this place?" Mike asked. Naia froze, mid-wrap.

"I wish I could say." A tiny tear formed in the corner of her eye. "All I know is that I was extremely happy while he was here. Emily was nice and all, but I had a special bond with the man who built this place. It kills me that I can't remember him."

"But you remember Emily?" That was a mystery that he was going to have to think on. Why would the former owner need his identity kept a secret? How does one get into collecting monsters in the first place?

"Yeah, I do. And Natalie. She was our keeper before Emily. But the real master came before Bethany, and I can't even picture him." Naia sniffed, finishing the wrap on Mike's leg. "I wish I could remember."

"I hope you remember." Mike meant it. Anything she could remember was something he could use. The sooner the better. Seeing a banshee on the porch had spooked him, and bad. What other surprises did the house have for him? Naia made him feel good in so many ways, but was the trouble worth it?

"There. All better." Naia kissed him on the neck, sending chills down his spine. "Now go unclog my fountain. The sooner you do that, the sooner I can see the stars again."

"Fair enough. Thank you, Naia." Mike stood, tossing his bloodied clothes in a hamper by the bed. Cracking open his bags, he found a pair of athletic shorts and a clean shirt to wear. Walking down the stairs, he pondered the situation that had developed. Cecilia, the crazy bitch on his front porch, had nearly killed him for touching her swing. How many others like her were there? Was he going to get killed by something that was using a room as its lair?

He stared at the furniture, covered in white sheets. The house had been cleaned numerous times, and as far as he knew, no problems had ever been reported. Something to ask Beth. He found himself looking at the fireplace in the sitting room, some stray thought crossing his mind. Before he could focus on it, he heard the creak of the swing out front, the immediate memory of an angry banshee in his face sending chills down his spine.

Rubbing his face, he walked toward the back of the house, away from the sound of the swing. He walked to the kitchen table, grabbing the bucket and eager to go out back and deal with a problem he could handle. Lifting the bucket, he realized that it didn't feel quite right. Looking inside, he saw that it was empty.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He shouted, throwing the bucket angrily. He sat down, putting his face in his hands. Should he go back to the store? It meant walking past the Swing of the Damned currently, and he knew he wasn't ready to deal with that. With a resigned sigh, Mike walked outside to the garden, hanging a left at the fountain. Key in hand, he unlocked the door to the garage, pushing it in.

Beth had warned him about the garage. Apparently his Great Aunt had been using it primarily for storage, and he immediately saw that the boxes had been piled high. He flicked on the light switch, which didn't actually help that much. The garage itself felt cavernous, somehow bigger than its two car capacity. The maze of boxes had him twisting to maneuver through them, hoping to make it to the other side. He expected to discover a tool bench on the opposite wall, and he was not disappointed. The bench was burdened with several boxes, so he lowered them to the ground.

"Fuck, these are heavy." He cracked open a couple boxes to reveal several paperback novels. The box he was looking in contained old sci-fi novels. He looked through the box, pulling aside a couple of classics that he intended to read for himself. He opened the next box, revealing a pile of romance novels.

"Bleh. Never mind." He closed the flap. Why were there so many books here? Pushing the thought from his mind, he got a good look at the tool bench. It had several drawers, all of which were empty when he opened them. Kneeling down, he opened the cabinet doors to reveal that they were also completely empty.

Who had a tool bench with no tools? Mike scratched his chin, double checking the drawers to make sure he saw right. He wondered if somebody had stolen them, but then thought of the girl on the front porch. If this place really had been built to harbor a monster collection, then ordinary thieves wouldn't have a chance. Looking at the boxes, he debated cracking them open, but was convinced that he would only find more books.

"Fuck, it's hot," he muttered, wiping sweat off his brow. The afternoon sun was turning the place into a bit of a sauna. He resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to leave the house again. Carefully moving through the stacks toward the door, he heard the sound of metal on concrete.

Mike froze in place, listening carefully. He closed his eyes, listening carefully. It was faint, but the sound of light fabric across concrete carried to him from the back of the garage. He moved slowly, quietly, maneuvering around the stacks of boxes. A narrow gap between some boxes concealed a small hallway in the back of the garage. Mike breathed out, barely fitting between the stacks.

The hallway U-turned, revealing a flight of stairs that went beneath the garage. He descended the concrete steps, moving quietly. Toward the bottom of the steps, he heard it, the unintelligible mutterings of someone up ahead. The voice was raspy, but feminine. He ducked his head, the space just barely over five feet tall.

There was just enough light that he saw the pull-cord dangling from the ceiling. He yanked on it, casting light into the dark spaces beneath. Unlike the room above, this room had plenty of space. Boxes along the edge of the room had been decorated with dirty fabric, and it was immediately obvious that the room was originally intended for working on cars-large pit covers up above were sealed and locked shut. Along the back wall of the room was a tool bench littered with tools, and Mike immediately spotted the supplies he had bought earlier. Off to the side was a tiny bed. The muttering he had been listening to had vanished.

Of greater interest, however, was the short figure between him and the bench. It stood at around four feet, dark green skin covered in dirt and grime. It's hair was so dirty that Mike couldn't make out any color, but did notice that it had been pulled to the side in a wild ponytail. The sudden light had frozen it in place, casting a comical shadow along the back wall. The figure dropped what it had been holding-the screwdriver that Mike had purchased earlier.

Mike tried to process what he was looking at. It wasn't see thru, so not a ghost (thank God). Where could he even go from here, now that he had discovered the creature's den.

"Those tools belong to me," he said, trying his best to sound firm. The creature in front of him turned around slowly, squinting into the light. She wore a dress that looked like it had been stitched together from spare furniture covers. A dirty yellow pair of goggles were on top of her head, and she bared her fangs at him, hissing through her teeth. Her tiny hands curled, revealing claws.

"Tools are for Tink." She growled. "All tools are Tink's tools."

Mike's heart raced. The thought of this angry little creature attacking him was simply too much. Still, he couldn't help but stare at her body. Wide set hips accentuated by small breasts, and the side of her makeshift dress had a split up the side, revealing just the edge of her bony hip and the movement of a thin tail with hair at the end. Her ears were wide and pointy, and a tiny nose made her big mouth look even larger.

He had no idea what he was looking at.

"Uh, okay. Tink, is it?" Mike held his hands up to show that they were empty. "Look here, Tink. I bought those tools so that I can fix the fountain. I can't fix the fountain without them. May I please have them back?"

Tink bared her fangs. "You challenge Tink. Tink fight. Protect goblin home."

"Whoa, whoa." Mike backed up. "We don't need to fight Tink, but I need those tools. There's no reason we need to do this." Mike ran through his memory, looking for info on goblins, but he was drawing an absolute blank.

"Then man leave. Never come back, or Tink fight to protect goblin home." Tink hunched forward, tossing her goggles to the side of the room. It was now or never.

"Let's talk about-fuck!" Tink leapt across the room, hands spread wide. She tackled Mike, and Mike fell over backward, slamming Tink's head into the ceiling.

"Oh shit, I'm so-hey!" Unfazed, Tink was clawing at him, grabbing handfuls of his t-shirt. He fought back, not wanting to hit her at first due to her size. Unfortunately, it was like tangling with an angry cat. His bandages were quickly shredded, and Tink was busy trying to wrestle him into submission.

The low ceiling prevented Mike from standing. Instead, he began rolling around on the floor, doing his best to avoid her teeth, which did shred away the rest of his shirt. As they fought, her dress ripped too, and Mike was soon grappling with a naked goblin on the floor.

At first, the fight seemed a sure defeat, but Tink was rapidly tiring. He flipped her on her back, slamming her rock-hard skull on the pavement. It didn't seem to faze her, but she slowed down quite a bit. Using the moment to his advantage, he crawled on top of her, pinning her in place with the weight of his body.

Tink struggled to rise, but Mike had managed to pin one arm down with his knee while holding the other straight. The rest of his body was on top of her torso, and she flopped helplessly for several minutes, quickly tiring.

"Give up, Tink. I've won," Mike panted, sweat pouring off his body. "It's over."

Tink fixed him with an angry stare, which quickly melted into defeat. Her large eyes pooled with tears, and she turned her face away from Mike.

"Tink lose. Tink give up goblin home." She snuffled, the dirt on the floor billowing away from her. "Tink leave, and no come back."

"Wait, what?" Tink had relaxed beneath Mike, so he shifted his body so that he wasn't crushing her any longer. "No, Tink, you don't have to leave, I just want my tools so I can fix the fountain."

"Goblin Law. We fight over home. Loser leave, never come back." She tried to rise, but Mike wasn't having it. He knew that Naia would be disappointed in him if he managed to lose one of the inhabitants of the house so quickly.

And honestly, was he even as entitled to the home as they were? They had been here longer, he was just the current human legally entitled to the place. Watching the goblin weep beneath him, he couldn't help but feel extremely bad. Tink obviously came from a culture he wasn't going to understand overnight, but this was a problem he needed to take care of right this second.

"I don't want Tink to leave," Mike explained. The instant the words left his mouth, the goblin turned her head toward him. There was a glimmer of hope that he was afraid to shatter, so he waited for her next move.

"Goblin Law say fight over home, someone leave."

Mike fought hard to avoid rolling his eyes. Clearly her head was hard literally and metaphorically. "Well, goblin law doesn't apply here. This is my house, so we follow my laws."

Tink shook her head. "Always follow Goblin Law."

"Well, then is there a law that lets us fight and you get to stay?" He felt Tink relax even more beneath his arm. Her snuffling stopped, and she became silent beneath his arms.

"Fight for goblin wife," she whispered.

"Oh." Mike was officially between a rock and a hard place with the little green monster he had found beneath the garage. If he took her as a goblin wife, then what did that entail? Then again, where would she go if she left? Naia had warned her that the world was a bad place for monsters, and it occurred to him that, as far as he knew, nobody even remotely believed goblins still existed. What if Tink was the last of her kind? What about his relationship with Naia? "Shit."

"No have to take goblin wife," Tink whispered. "Tink can just go."

"Well, hold on." The gears in his mind were turning. "If I take you as goblin wife, what about other people? Do we have to live down here?"

"Goblin husband take many wives. Goblin wife no mind."

"Okay. Well Tink, this was a fight for a goblin wife. Now you don't have to leave." Mike wanted to clap himself on the back, but he wanted to keep Tink pinned.

"Fight for goblin wife not over," she told him. Seeing the puzzled look on his face, she gently grabbed one of his hands and dragged it down to her breast. "Different kind of fight."

"Oh." Mike wasn't sure what to say, but he was immediately struck at how firm the breast beneath his hand was. It was slightly bigger than his hand, and as he dragged his thumb across the top, he felt a pair of nipples, stacked vertically. He gave it a squeeze, releasing Tink's arms. She immediately grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head, pulling him close.

"Tink want you to fight harder," she hissed, pulling him in. Clawed hands dragged down her back, just hard enough to remind Mike that they were there. They found the waist band of his shorts, shoving them down. Mike grabbed her breasts tightly now, and Tink's clawed hand found Mike's cock. "Fight even harder. Make goblin wife."

Mike wrapped his hand in her hair, looping it across his knuckles so that he could yank it backward. He pulled her face in, suddenly entranced by the exotic curl of her lips, something he only saw now that her fangs weren't bared at him. Tink was working his shaft with both tiny hands, dragging her just the tips of her claws expertly across his dick. He shivered, the sensation hitting him directly in the gut.

"Almost ready," Tink muttered, licking the palms of her hand with an unusually long tongue. Mike bit down on her breast, rolling her double nipples around with his tongue. He was amazed at how large each nipple was in his mouth, and she arched her back.

"Bite harder, sweaty man."

Mike chomped down, expecting a cry of protest, but he got a moan of pleasure. Her skin was dirty, but tasted mainly of the earth, and didn't yield in the slightest. Letting up, he curled three fingers and caught her double nipples between his knuckles, pinching them and pulling up. Snarling, Tink grabbed the head of his hard cock, now slippery, and placed it at the edge of her pussy.

"Make me goblin wife," she growled, and Mike obliged. He shoved his way into her, her tight pussy squeezing him the whole way in.

"Holy shit!" Mike yelled, feeling hard ridges inside of Tink rub against his glans. Tink wrapped tiny legs around Mike and forced herself up to meet him, but she was so tight, he wasn't getting in any further than just the first couple inches.

"Fight from bottom," Tink begged, and Mike rolled on his back. She mounted him, forcing herself down, and Mike felt like his dick was being squeezed by a set of angry hands. She struggled, only three inches of his dick penetrating her tight folds. Mike grabbed her shoulders first, trying to push her down. The tender side of him demanded that he show some sort of gentle gesture, so he ran one hand lovingly across her brow and then back through her hair.

What was this? Mike swept Tink's hair aside to reveal a horn, nearly three inches long, hidden in the wild tangles of her hair. Surprised, he searched the other side of her head, finding another, slightly shorter horn. Suddenly inspired, he clamped his hands down tight, forcing Tink onto his cock.

Tink couldn't reach the root of his cock, her insides simply not large enough for him. Her tiny belly bulged outward with every thrust of his dick. Tink panted, mouth open wide, as she rode Mike hard, squeezing at his pecks with clawed hands. Her wide hips made it easy for her legs to wrap around Mike's waist, and she was lifting and dropping so quickly that Mike was tensing his stomach just to brace for impact.

"Oh! Oh fuck!" Mike felt his insides churn, his balls getting ready to blast a load. Tink, sensing this, rode even harder, guttural moans and drool leaving her mouth, gasping for air as her fingers clutched Mike's biceps. Mike yanked down on her horns, squeezing tight, and Tink's grunts became a protracted growl. Mike's whole body tightened, and Tink threw herself forward, slipping free of Mike's hold, to sink her teeth into her shoulder.

"Ow, you fucking-" Mike bit her back, trying to dig his own teeth into the flesh around her neck. His crotch was suddenly soaked in Tink's cum, and she screamed through her teeth. His shoulder hurt like hell, but his balls never got the message. Mike bit her even harder, filling her with three giant bursts of cum, Tink grunting as each one entered her.

She released him with her teeth, leaving a thin pattern of needle-like injuries all around his shoulder. Mike let go too, leaving mostly just indentations and spit on her skin. Her pussy contracted, squeezing out another stream of goo, and Mike shuddered with pleasure. Tink laid her head down on Mike's chest, letting out a low rumble like a cat.

"Tinker now goblin wife of sweaty man," she told him, tracing her fingers along his arm.

"Tinker? Is that your full name?" Tink nodded, her shining eyes on his. "Well, you can call me Mike, not sweaty man."

"Mike goblin husband. Tink belong to Mike now." She sighed, laying her head down. Mike held her this way for a bit, letting his body relax. Even as his dick softened, her goblin cunt was still so tight that she held him in place.

"Well, Tinker-"

"Husband call me Tink."

"Well, Tink, I'm sure there's plenty of daylight left. I need my tools to fix the fountain."

Tink shook her head, her ears flopping lightly beneath her hair. "Tink good at fixing. Tink help, you see." She dismounted, Mike's dick plopping free along with a giant puddle of cum. Tink squatted, lapping up the mess with her long, slippery tongue, until his cock was clean once more.

"Jesus all-mighty," Mike muttered to himself, finding his shorts. Tink was holding what was left of her dress, string at it in sadness.

"Tink need new outfit," she informed him, tossing the rags aside.

"I think I have a shirt that will fit you," he said, not wanting to waste anymore time thinking about it.

"Good idea. Husband get new dress, Tink go look at fountain." She had already retrieved her goggles, fixing them in place on her head, and had grabbed a small toolbox next to the bench. "We go."