Goblin Fact 2: Goblins have an intrinsic hatred of humanity, and have been known to opportunistically attack people.

You're awoken by two things. The first is a sudden change in lighting. The harsh sunlight that was a moment ago falling across your eyelids is replaced by a cool shadow, and you open your eyes to find the sky half blocked out by clouds. You're lying on your supine on your back, with your left arm draped over your head, and you're not quite sure how long you've been out. It can't have been too long, though, as the sun behind the cloud cover is still high in the sky.

Of course, that's not nearly as remarkable as the other thing that's woken you up, and that's the realization that you're not alone on the lounger by the jacuzzi. Snuggled up next to you is none other than your green skinned cohort, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open, and her breathing steady. Her head, and a massive tangle of red hair, is nestled comfortably into the crook of your right shoulder, her body turned away from you, with your arm reaching around her to cradle her small figure. She's got both of her arms in a wrapped around yours, seemingly content to snuggle against your forearm like a teddy bear.

Which makes this situation a little awkward. Piper, despite her small stature, has... shall we say, rather impressive curves. While it was hard to tell earlier, thanks to her flowing sundress, the size of her backside pressing into your thigh feels nearly as voluminous as the breasts currently cushioning your forearm and elbow. And that's the real problem, isn't it? Her sizable breasts, probably about the same size as her head in fact, have your arm sandwiched right between them. Only the soft fabric of her dress separates you from full **** arm-on-tit contact. You're definitely in a precarious situation at the moment.

Not that it's a bad feeling, of course. In fact, it's a goddamn wonderful feeling to have her voluptuous form pressed into you. The problem then, if you're being honest with yourself, is that you've been too mopey lately to, shall we say, "take care of business" for yourself. As such, it isn't too long before 'Lil Lazza awakens from inside your plaid print pajama pants, the rambunctious scamp stretching itself out in preparation for carnal delights.

Oh that's right, you never bothered to change out of your sleeping clothes. You're just wearing a black t-shirt and sleeping pants. In hindsight, you probably look like a slob, but whatever. It's just you, your rat, and a goblin around the house right now.

That said, your real concern at the moment should be the feeling of pliant goblin flesh on your body, which of course is absolutely wrong, and on so many levels. You doubt you could call Piper your daughter, per se. The relation between goblin and maker is apparently a little more obtuse than that, but you definitely created her, which you assume should impart you with a measure of paternal instinct over her. And the few paternal feelings you have tell you that you definitely shouldn't have her booty and tits pressed into you. Especially so shortly after her, uh, creation. That feels like a special kind of wrong.

Luckily, it seems like Piper is waking up. She gives a yawn, releasing your arm to stretch herself out...

Only to roll over, hug you with both arms, and press her prodigious breasts into your side. Okay, so she wasn't waking up. And of course, her new position after shifting around places your hand right next to her butt. Her wonderful, bountiful butt. Yeah, now that you can see her sundress pulled taught across it, the girl's got a booty like pow. You've heard the phrase "smuggling hams in those jeans", and it could only be more apt if she was actually wearing jeans. "Smuggling hams in that dress" doesn't have the same ring to it, after all.

She shifts again, unintentionally thrusting that glorious booty out into your palm, and fuck this is bad. You don't squeeze, or knead, or even brush against that glorious rear, as that would be a gross breach of trust and definitely a not good thing for a paternal figure to do.

But you reeaaally want to.

Unfortunately for the dark and perverse thoughts in your mind, a moment later she shifts again, apparently trying to get more comfortable, and places one of her little green hands right on top of your dick.

It's still in your pajama pants, luckily, but there's not nearly enough fabric between the two of you for you to not feel the softness of her palm. It's right there. On your dick. If this isn't a first for human-goblin relations, you'd be really fucking surprised. You can see the news ticker now; Local man creates goblin on accident, recieves handjob. Sounds more like a Florida Man story than a San Francisco Man story, but if it's a slow news day it'd probably still make it on TV.

And then her hand starts moving, kneading your shaft through your pants, as she starts to shake against you with a devious giggle. Well, you must be a little slow on the uptake, because you now know what you probably should have realized a while earlier; she's definitely doing this on purpose.

"Havin' fun there, Lazza?" she asks in a sing-songy lilt, her hand stroking you.