"That's right," Jalli cooed, stroking his hair as Lesha reached down and took another piece of bread. "Just let your hosts take care. Gretel is being a
good
guest."
"Yes," Lesha hissed, grinning down at him. The goblin maid leaned in and, with a prompting coo, had him open wide so she could give him another bite of the overwhelmingly delicious meal. The bread was so soft and fluffy, and the soup it was dipped in so rich and hearty and spicy - he recognized tomato, but there were so many herbs and spices, was so much he didn't recognize - "Don't worry, Gretel, this is
normal
outside the tower. To let your hosts handfeed you. Very normal."
The twin shortstacks giggled, exchanging mischievous looks—Jalli nestled in the big, comfy chair next to him, Lesha sitting up on the armrest. They sat on opposite sides of their wizard guest, giving him an irrational feeling of being trapped.
Gretel swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat as he looked between them. Jalli squirmed against him with a little giggle, and he saw her reaching down over the side of the chair - and returning with a lovely wooden pitcher. Her thick, dark lashes fluttered over burning blue bedroom eyes, and against emerald-green skin as soft as it was attractive, dark, plump lips curved upwards in a smile.
The smell of hot, mulled wine reached his head, and he suddenly realized how
thirsty
he was.
"Time for drink," they cooed in unison, eyes glimmering with delight.
Gretel swallowed, and frowned. He was
certain
now that they were having fun at his expense.
His head was spinning, though, and as Jalli raised a tin cup, he found himself eagerly taking it from her hand and downing the contents.
It was mulled wine—sweet, almost too sweet, and very strong, but it helped settle the spiciness. Gretel felt himself getting very hot now.
"Th-That's enough," he managed, as Jalli took the last piece of bread and started dipping it in the soup. "I, um..." He panned between their stricken looks. "I don't know what you're, um... what..."
"You... you are not enjoying our food." Lesha stared down at him, her eyes suddenly moist. "Are we not presenting it well?"
"I just, um..." Jalli was rubbing his shoulder, looking deeply upset, but her fingers were getting very close to the tattoo. "I can't... I can tell, I mean, that... it's obvious..." Gretel was having trouble putting his words together.
Lesha pouted and leaned in. She had such plump, dark crimson lips, Gretel noticed, and his breath caught. He thought she was leaning in to kiss him, but she stopped a few inches above. "What's obvious, Gretel?" she asked softly. "Is our Sharing of the Bread not honoring our guest?"
"I... Sharing of the what?"
"The Sharing of the Bread!" Jalli giggled, her fingers skittering around his shoulder and close to the tattoo like a spider's legs. "It's a very, very important thing. Hospitality."
"Hospitality," Lesha agreed. "We were almost done with the bread. It... it seemed like it was going well."
Gretel was having trouble focusing on their words. Their eyes flickered between each other like... like... like very pretty eyes. Their tones were so soft and sweet, so kind and sympathetic, so sad and guilty. Jalli was so soft against him, so warm and comforting. Lesha smelled like cinnamon as she leaned over him, her eyes boring into his. He was having trouble focusing on their words, but he was pretty sure he got the gist.
"I-I see." He bit his lip. "I, um... okay. I'm sorry. I misunderstood. I guess." He looked at Jalli, then at her hand, still gripping the last piece of bread. "This is... normal for guests?"
"Of course it is normal for hosts to feed their guests by hand!" Jalli beamed at him and stroked his hair. "Do they not do it in the Ivory Tower?"
"Um." He blinked at her hand, then up at Lesha's chest.
"Open wide," Jalli purred in his ear.
~ ~ ~ ~
They kept feeding him like that, alternating with each piece of bread and occasionally pausing for more mulled wine. Every now and then, one of them would get up to refill the pitcher or bring another loaf, but they were never both gone at the same time. No matter what, one of them was always hanging on his arm, touching him delicately. Talking to him.
He wasn't really sure what they were talking about. He was getting sleepy. It was so warm, and he was so full. The wine was making his head kind of... spin. Lopsided. Like an unbalanced ship in a maelstrom. He felt his mind sloshing back and forth, jiggling and bouncing in time with their breasts, with their thick accents and sweet voices.
As he finally polished off the last of the soup, they praised him. That felt a bit strange, to have Jalli cooing in his ear, "Such a good appetite. Such a polite guest." But they were happy with him. He was being a good guest. What was so wrong with that?
Jalli hopped out of the chair with the tray, disappearing once more into the kitchen with a smile and a wink. They winked and smiled a lot, these goblin maids. He smiled after her as her swishing ass, hugged tightly by the nightgown, disappeared from sight. It was a good thing that was just normal, or he'd think they were being a bit flirtatious.
Lesha's fingers continued to stroke through his hair as she hummed that little traveling tune from earlier. He looked up at her, eyelids heavy, as she remarked, "You have such pretty, hair, Gretel."
"Th-Thanks." Gretel ducked his head and put his hand over his still-tender tattoo. Jalli kept breathing on it by accident, and while that wasn't enough to really
bother
him, it was... enough.
"But messy." She giggled. "It looks very messy, Gretel. When is last time you brush it, silly?"
Gretel blinked. "Um."
"Aw." She patted his cheek. The people around here were very big on touch, Gretel had noticed, but both these goblin maids and Maye had eagerly assured him that it was normal to let pretty women touch you like this. And what did he know? Why would they lie? "Silly human. You look like, um... oh, I do not know the word."
"Where are you from, anyways?" he asked sleepily. "Or... I mean, um, what's that accent?"
"Deep Southern." She beamed at him. "My grandparents came here on the—I think you called them Wolfboats. The raids. But we settled down."
"Oh." He blinked and nodded. Lesha seemed to have obtained a bristle hairbrush, and was fiddling with it in front of him—right between her breasts. The Wolfboats. The raids from the Deep South. Mindweavers come a-viking, as they said, to claim husbands and wives, treasure and souvenirs. Many goblin maids not from the Mountains were descended from those who'd lingered after the raids. Goblin maids made bad vikings, they said—they fell in love too easily.
"Can I..." She tapped the brush, grinning with palpable eagerness.
"I... I dunno." He bit his lip. "My hair doesn't really brush."
"But you look like..." She shook her head ruefully. "What is the word for, um, silly person who plays around all the time?"
He blinked. "Um... depends on what you mean by—"
"
Bimbo
," squeaked a little voice, as Jalli hopped back into the chair next to him. She wrapped her arms around him, giggling. "I know the word!"
"That's, um... not quite..."
"Silly person who plays all the time!" Jalli's eyes glimmered, so pretty and blue. "Sleeps around everywhere. Bedhead all the time, ya?"
"I... I guess..." Gretel struggled to find words as Lesha, who was clearly very excited, bounced in her seat in front of him. He knew that wasn't right, that Jalli and Lesha had the wrong word, but it was so hard to explain why with Jalli clinging to him like that. So soft. So warm.
