What Could Have Been (Mirchia Memeina)

[Tassadar]

Spoiler

Mirchell: HP = 67, PP = 44, EP = 47, Status = Grappled, Submission Hold, Starvation Collar, Naked

Maebev - Arch Traitor and Loyal Lieutenant
Aleida - Succubus Torturer
Malkeinith - Captain of the Lowest Guard

Garkus Ironbender - Elderly goblin forge master, commander of the tribe, sounds sort of like Keith David
Thick Goblin Girl - Orb shaped.

Rolls

Spoiler

Tentaclebeast will try to get her naked.
Grapple: 64 vs 95, it wins. Dun dun dunnn.

Tentacles grasped her battering wings, and twisted around her wrists and calves, manhandling the struggling demoness with practiced ease now that she was deprived of the ability to use her weight and momentum. Piece by piece, it picked apart her armor and underarmor, the mockingly applied plating falling to the dungeon floor with a clatter that echoed alongside her howl of denial, followed by sections of leather. Tendrils unworked ties and bindings effortlessly in spite of Mirchell's enraged thrashing, and with a forced twist of her limb Mirchell felt her sword leave her hand and clatter to the floor as well.

Once her armor was out of the way, the tentacled horror pulled her further upwards, spun her, and forcibly constrained her in on herself all at once. She was left with her wrists crossed behind her back and at full extension, her legs bent until her knees were pressed into her shoulders, her wings forced together, and her head hanging down to stare down at what was happening to the rest of her. Only Mirchell's tail remained momentarily free, those tentacles making half-hearted efforts failing to grasp the equally sinuous limb not yet managing it.

With its prey bare and secured, Mirchell was forced to watch as the monstrosity brought its more depraved appendages into the struggle; a single immensely thick tendril squirmed down to point at her from below, roughly between her legs, while two narrower ones swirled around her hanging bust. The upper pair coiled around both of her breasts, and then their tips opened - revealing rows upon rows of tiny writhing miniature tentacles - before sealing themselves over her areola. Her more sensitive skin was bombarded with their attention, slowly but surely forcing her nipples to harden in spite of her desires, and she felt a firm suction begin to build in bursts, as if it were intent on forcing her to give up her milk in spite of her present lack of lactation. Worse still, below her, the larger tendril opened like a flower, fleshy petals spreading, and with a surge a distressingly familiar transparent appendage emerged, smooth and slimy and with a tube-like opening on one end. The ovipositor brushed against her taut stomach as it emerged, and Mirchell could feel it pulsating against her flesh as it began to slide downwards...

 

[Mirchia Memeina]

The winged demoness let out a bellowing roar of terrified fury as her wrist twisted - one glowing eye scrunched against the pain, even as her fist clenched as tight as it could around the grip of her weapon, as if it were the only thing separating her from death. The bone creaked as the pair wrestled for supremacy, but no matter how hard her will was willing to fight to the bitter end, her body was not - just before the twisting tension could cause real injury, clawed fingers sprang open, and the weighty sword sprang from her grip, ringing loudly as it struck the stone beneath, along with her armour. Breastplate, pauldrons, fauld. Leather and tattered cloth. All fell away, until the squirming albino was naked in her entirety - even the greaves encapsulating her feet, by far the hardest part to remove without thumbs, but little real issue for the dedicated tentacle horror!

Exposed muscle rippled as Mirchell thrashed wildly, her wings beating frantically like a bat ensnared in a colossal spider's web. Heavy breaths and the rotations that left her head spinning, the mockery of a crown that was her three shattered and one whole horn glinting as dirty-white hair tumbled wildly around her exposed frame. At the very least, the dizziness quietened the sounds of their scuffle to a degree, as the albino was left temporarily breathless.

The perfect opportunity to exploit, as the frantic beats of her wings began to slow, as bit by bit the flailing limbs were restrained, allowing the dust to settle at last. Her arms pulling backwards even as ripped biceps strained in furious effort to resist, and wildly kicking feet found themselves encircled too. How slick and smooth they felt, so horrifically unnerving as one coiled around her knee pits, and forced the limbs to bend through superior leverage. Up and up, until the albino could flail no more - a shibaried bunny straining against her bondage as her bouncing chest began to heave more and more frantically, beginning to truly hyperventilate as other tendrils presented themselves.

She shrieked again as suckers wrapped themselves around the jiggling mass of her breasts, finally freed from their armoured confines - head tossing and waving, as if her horns still posed any threat. And it began. The shock of pleasure that made Mirchell's glowing eyes waver and cross, her knife-like ears drooping almost shyly and jaw clenching shut as a hundred tiny points of contact squirmed their way around her areolae. Perhaps the tentacle horror could tell of some of her bodies' past - read the unhealed stretch marks, the well-developed swell of her breast. Perhaps it was simply hoping for the best. But with tendrils squeezing and cupping at her chest, and dozens of tiny tendrils caressing every millimeter of sensitive flesh, the demoness knew it wouldn't be long, as pangs of pleasure from the sucking sensations cut gashes through her panic.

But there was the worst. The silvery, translucent tentacle emerging from that grossly flower-like appendage like a horrific stigma, leaving a trail of slime across ashen flesh as it descended lower, over her waist, and towards the plumpened slit adorned by its crown of ash-white hair - the softest part of the hardened warrior's body, and one which had seen all too many tentacles in the last couple centuries; tender folds tucked away most privately.

Even her tail - helplessly flailing still, even if the appendage grown more for use as a rudder than a weapon posed no real threat - provided no comfort there, ineffectually swatting and lashing against the ovipositor. She wanted to cry. Tears built in the corners of the once-fearsome warrior's glowing orbs, as she strained into her bondage, shouting her dismay down the corridor. "No, no, no! NO! STOP! I WILL RIP YOU TO FUCKING PIECES!"

[Escape]