A goblin

The bushes are pushed away, and into the clearing prowls something you hadn’t quite expected. Short and wiry, the creature had a deep green skin which would help it camouflage in the undergrowth of the Black Forest. Tall knife sharp ears poked from a bald head that perhaps reached your toned waist were it not bowed in a slight creeping hunch. Roughly humanoid, though with slightly longer arms which gripped a spear between dirty yellow fingers, it only wore a crude loincloth about its waist and hiding very little of what lay beneath.

A goblin!

The little green creature shuffles forward. It pauses on spotting you. It tilts a bald head forward, long sharp nose sniffing the air warily. It catches your scent and the arousal which soaks your legs, and a low lecherous grin splits its face.

“Pretty lady,” the goblin leers, creeping closer. It’s still cautious, suspicious of a trap, but the bait is far too tempting, and it has every intention of making a try for it.

Disgust wells within you. You squirm in your bindings, but the exercise is for naught. You look around, **** for help as the goblin draws ever closer. Only the distant glow of the inn meets your searching gaze; the home of the one who put you out here. Suddenly, the fact that you are truly all alone, unarmed, and cut off sinks in. The name Winnifred Van Helsing means nothing out here. Coupled with the **** so recently suffered at the heavy hands of the overweight innkeeper’s wife, this revelation causes your head to sink against your chest in sudden despair.

All the while, the goblin creeps closer, his smile lascivious and his loincloth being pushed aside by what lay beneath.