Yilfe got a job. To say my expectations of the spunky little shut in were low would’ve been the understatement of the epoch — getting her to shower had a Herculean labor in itself. She was a friend of a former friend who snuck into our place when all of us were still on good terms, sprinkle in a bit of drama and our distinctional trio became an awkward duo. Her parents helped when they could, though goblins weren’t a particularly generous bunch, even to their offspring. I was on the edge of kicking her out of our apartment when the goblin told me the news.
“That’s great, Yilf! What is it? Delivery? Tutoring? Donate plasma?” I knew that I was coming on strong but it was exciting news. If not for me then for my back account. I could smell the money — my money — actually sitting in my account past the rent date. Maybe even some leftover for beer. It wasn't like Yilfie was any help around the apartment, but as long as she showered occasionally we'd be alright.
She smiled sheepishly. Goblin smiles were always nervous to me — full lips parted, showing off rows of sharp teeth. A mop of greasy black hair shielded her eyes in a perpetual curtain, long ears flopping lazily within the ebon rat’s nest. How she saw anything had always been a mystery to me. She’d hardly the dignity to get herself together besides a pair of 3-day worn panties and a pit-stained tank top; had my desensitization to her sloppy appearance gotten that bad?
“Yeah, none of that. Just know I got some of the bills from now on, big guy.”
“What?” Perhaps I was too invested, but this was big news! Curiosity killed the cat, after all, and a piece of me was dying to know what line of work my prickly little pickle would be up to. Goblins were mischievous folks, no doubt about it — and Yilfe wasn’t exempt from their conniving reputation. I could feel a sinking feeling in my gut. This wasn’t going to be delivery. Not plasma. Certainly not tutoring. My voice dropped.
“Sheesh, mom, I’m showing my tits for cash. Happy?” Yilfe blurted. I felt myself go pale. The sinking feeling had turned to a dead weight in my stomach — she couldn’t have been serious. The goblin was lounging comfortably on the couch, playing games as per usual. Had this really just slipped out? I could see the outline of her nipples beneath her tank top, teasingly erect in the air conditioning. An impish smile stretched across her face.
I knew better than to pry. If there was one thing Yilfie loved, it was getting under people's skin — and if I gave her a reaction, she'd milk it for everything it was worth. Best case scenario, she was messing with me. Worst case, she really had taken to whoring herself out online. Wasn’t my place to judge.
“That’s cool, that’s cool.” What was there more to say?
“That it? All that buildup and you don’t wanna know more?” She teased.
It was bait and we both knew it. Hell, she probably anticipated my pokerface — goblins were clever like that. Couldn’t say I didn't want to know more, curiosity burning at the back of my head. What kind of content did she shoot? Did she do webcam shows? Modeling? Nothing quite seemed fitting for Yilfie — her hygiene left much to be desired, sure, but she wasn't ugly by any means. Beneath the stink and grease was a surprisingly feminine body — soft curves where a human girl might have a defined muscle. Fluffy, ample thighs, pert breasts barely filling a handful, and a bubble butt to boot. With a few tweaks to the attitude I'm sure she'd be well fit for modeling — providing she showered.
“Is it in person? Like modeling.”
My reward was a derisive snort, “Oh you’re funny, dude. Modeling?” Yilfie reached into her ripe underwear, giving the scruff of black pubes an absentminded scratch; was she toying with me? I wouldn’t put it past her.
“So online.”
“Bingo.”
A sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, frustration bubbling over, "You know, Yilf, most girls start streaming before they're living off of another guy's rent."
The goblin took a moment, closing her console and setting it on the coffee table. I half expected an explosion — a storm of vulgarity and insults directed towards me. Instead, she crossed her arms, squirming uncomfortably. There was something off about her demeanor — was she embarrassed? No. Yilfe wasn’t capable of being embarrassed. She wore shame like a badge of honor, often times egged on by perceived insults. Whatever this was, it was different.
"I can handle myself, jackass, but…”
“But what?”
“But I could use some help, ya know. This cam thing ain’t as easy as these sluts make it look. They got managers, community mods…film dudes.” Yilfe looked away, hands idly squeezing her thighs as she spoke. Was she asking me to film? Help manage her page? Community mod sounded fun — hell, maybe she'd clean up a bit if I did some of the management work. Wait, what the fuck was I thinking.
“What are you asking for, Yilfie, be straight for once.”
Her ears flattened against her skull, sharp green eyes focusing directly on mine. Was it the light or were her cheeks flushed? I never had a knack for goblin body language, let alone emotions. She leaned forward, elbows resting on those thick thighs. My heart raced. Was it anticipation? Dread? Anticipation.
“Just a scene or two to get people interested…”
That sinking feeling returned, washing over me like a tsunami. I could practically hear the blood pumping through my ears. She wasn’t fucking with me. Yilfe really wanted me to film her camming — to star in it. I suppose she wasn’t lying when she said it was easier than it looked — just needed someone to play the cock while she bounced and moaned.
Something stirred. Something primal.
Before I knew it, words were flying from my mouth — sputtering like a fool, trying to rationalize whatever fantasy had gripped my mind. I wasn't attracted to goblins — not specifically, anyway. Yilfie was my roommate. A bratty freeloader with boundary issues. But, damn, had the thought not slipped my mind more than once? I’d course it had. It was perverse beyond measure, but her funk had become a mainstay smell within the apartment. It reminded me of home. Of respite after a long day of busting my ass at work. I knew, even if I had a shitty day, Yilf would be on the couch half-tipsy but more than willing to offer a bit of banter. Her pits, her cunt, the pockets of sweat between her meaty little legs — I’d been conditioned. Brainwashed to associate the goblin’s natural musk with comfort. I wanted her.
"Look, man, if you don't want to that's fine." Yilfe interjected. Embarrassment? That was new.
“Fine. Fine, fine, fine.” I mumbled — whether to convince her or myself was beyond me. She lit up, ears standing erect atop her messy hair. God, she was cute like that. Smiling ear to pointed ear, fangs exposed. She hopped from the couch, bounding excitedly toward me. Fuck, she smelled ripe. I hadn’t realized how close she was until she pressed herself against my chest, wrapping thin arms around my torso in a tight hug. The goblin was warm. Soft. Sweaty. It was almost too much for me.
I could feel my cock twitch.
Yilfie pulled back, craning her neck to meet my gaze. There was something different in her eyes. A spark. Excitement? I knew better than to ask. “Let’s make some booze money!”
“Rent money.”
“Sorry.”
⁂
“You think they’ll be into the whole disheveled, musty goblin schtick? Just gonna wear the same filthy clothes?”
“Filthy? Every girl needs a niche, dude.”
Yilfe snorted, wiping beads of sweat from her brow as she stared into the bathroom mirror. She’d no interest in sprucing up, and in truth, I was glad.