Cynna is a highly capable and experienced adventurer. Sure, it's unwise to go into any dungeon alone, but there's nothing in these old, crumbling ruins that poses a real challenge to her - until an ill-advised attempt to crawl through a hole in search of loot leaves her stuck with her delicates exposed to the dank tunnels, and a hoard of goblins happen across her...8k words, very dark content rating.
Note: This story takes place in the same world as my story Vivionne's Pets, although you don't need to have read that story to enjoy this one.
Content tags/warnings: monsterfucking; nonconsensual gang-bang; mild claustrophobia (at a level typical for stuck fetish stories); nonconsensual/forced impregnation
Cynna had never in her life been so humiliated, nor so angry.
This was all Brand's fault, the shiftless layabout. If he hadn't refused to accompany her into the dungeon, she wouldn't be in this position.
It wasn't even a very exciting dungeon! Just the old ruins of some long-gone wizard's castle--built down into the ground rather than up into the air, but that was truly the only interesting thing about it. Otherwise, it was just a drafty set of stone ruins set into the earth, empty of anything of value. The whole place had been picked over clean by other adventurers who had passed through in decades prior, leaving not much on the upper levels but old dirt and stone.
Cynna had seen nothing, absolutely nothing, on the first five levels down, except for one devil-faced spider that she'd dispatched easily enough. But the venom from a single devil-faced spider, though alchemically valuable, was hardly enough to fill her coin-purse, even if she found someone educated enough to buy it off her out here in the ass-end of nowhere at the very edge of the civilized portion of the continent.
So she'd kept going down. And, sure, there had been some tunnels that looked a little shifty--dark passages crawling off into the dirt, with old stonework shattered in a pile around them, like something had burrowed in from the outside. She was a trained adventurer, not a fool; she avoided those, and she kept moving.
Brand, the coward, had heard about the tunnels from some of the towns-folk, and had heard some ridiculous rumor that the tunnels all stretched off in the direction of Dark Reach. As if there was any real risk that any of those nasty critters would come crawling this far from their hellish homeland! At best, Cynna expected there might be some half-breeds--bedeviled creatures, like werewolves; or perhaps some of the stunted and ugly things that spawned on the edges of Dark Reach, a cyclops or a band of hideous little goblins--but no real demons.
But, of course, Brand couldn't be convinced, and so she'd had to go in without him.
And now--and now she was--she was fucking stuck!
When Cynna had first spotted the opening in the wall, she had thought it was a gap of missing stonework, from years of damage and decay; but when she had bent to peer through, she had seen how smooth it was, as if it were built into the wall intentionally. It was some sort of slot or hole, the only way to access the tiny, dark room on the other side.
And then she had thought she'd seen something shiny in that dark little space, and so of course--of course!--she'd knelt down and slipped her arms and her head and her shoulders through, in hopes of finding some valuable loot overlooked by previous explorers..
Well, the shiny thing, it turned out, was simply the light catching the dark, slick leaves of some sort of bedeviled plant, and as soon as she was halfway through the hole, the damned thing had wrapped a tendril right around both of her wrists and trapped her.
Whatever this little space once was, the plant had taken it over entirely: her floating witch-light illuminated nothing but walls of leaves and shifting tendrils. It had two or three of its thickest vines wrapped around her wrists now, and no matter how hard she yanked, the plant held on tight.
If she could just get all the way in to the little room, she'd have the leverage to use a knife to cut her wrists free--but the hole she was wedged in was too small to fit her generously-sized hips.
Even worse, in her initial panicked struggle, she'd caught some part of her belt on the stonework. It had come right off, taking her skirt with it.
And now there she was: stuck on her knees, wedged halfway through a wall in some crumbling old dungeon. Rear out, fully exposed, for any old monster to just come along and eat. Yes, she did have a charmed amulet that would send an emergency signal to Brand, to alert him that she needed help, but she couldn't let him find her like this!
"You have to let go eventually," she growled to the plant.
It responded by creeping another, smaller feeler in her direction, as if trying its luck, before rapidly retreating when she pounded at it with her partially-restrained fists.
"Accursed--vile--" she grunted, yanking her arms back again and getting nothing for her trouble except for bruises on her wrists as the plant tightened its grip.
For several long minutes Cynna struggled, filling the little space with her grunts of effort and the frantic rustling of the plant fighting back. When she finally gave in and collapsed once more, she was panting so hard that all she could hear was the echo of her own breathing and the pounding of her heartbeat.
If there had been any sound signaling movement in the corridor behind her, she had missed it entirely. So it was quite a shock when someone grabbed a handful of her backside.
"Eek!" Cynna shrieked, kicking out. Her boot connected with something soft, and there was a warbling yell and then cursing--not in a language she spoke, but she was familiar enough to identify it as one of the lower demonic tongues, the type spoken by goblins and their ilk.
The hand grabbed her ankle next, above the cuff of her boot, wrapping around until sharp claws dug painfully into her skin. She tried to kick it off, but the fingers grasping at her were too strong.
Two other voices joined the first, chattering back and forth between themselves, and another hand grabbed her other thigh, before--to Cynna's immense horror--grabbing and tearing her unmentionables straight off her body, eliminating the last barrier and exposing her sex to the dank air of the dungeon.
She screamed and thrashed again, her ankle and thigh both prickling sharply where she struggled against the creatures' clawed grips. She accomplished nothing this time, except to scrape her own knees uncomfortably against the stone and to hurt her wrists as she yanked at the plant's tight wrapping around her arms.
It took a great exercise of will to finally get hold of herself and stop the pointless struggle, forcing her body into stillness. She was only wasting her energy and hurting herself.
