Follow the smell.

I creep down into the grotto. I see a huge tropical plant, rooted in a hollow of the earth, looking like a cross between an orchid and a pitcher plant. It smells wonderful. I have to get closer. I lean in, following my nose towards the plant.

Mistake. Stupid, stupid mistake.

The plant's maw yawns open and sap-slimy vines erupt from within it, lashing out toward me. I try to run but they're too quick. I try to cut myself loose but they're too strong for my dagger, and then they've got my wrists. The sap on them contains some kind of gentle acid, not strong enough to burn me but enough to eat away at my clothes. Holes appear in my breeches, my shirt melts away, my bra frays and dissolves, my panties vanish in seconds. I'm nude, my breasts bouncing, the ginger curls between my legs flashing in the darkness as the vines drag me towards the plant. I leave finger-marks in the soft dirt but I can't slow myself down. The vines drag me inside the bulbous green sac of the plant's body, coiling around me, holding every part of my body in a tight slimy embrace as the maw closes around my neck. I'm stuck inside the plant, totally immobilised with only my head poking free.

Then the vines begin to play with me.

Of course, I recognise it down. The plant is a rare variant of Meiderkop's Sexflower, a species created by the erotic wizard Meiderkop to liven up her famous parties. It lures people in with its delicious, aphrodisiac smell, traps them inside its pod and toys with them for hours, vines seeking out their most sensitive zones and tantalising them with slimy, sensitive, precise caresses. It's designed to keep its victims on edge, teasing them until they pant for mercy but never quite letting them cum. I can already feel the vines sliding against my pussy and oh, Goddess, it feels good. So good. The stamens of tiny flowers flick and tickle my nipples and a moan escapes my throat. My breath is speeding up. The slime is also an aphrodisiac, of course. Already I want to - want to -

It won't be that easy, of course. The vines pull back, denying me the release my body demands. The flower has been planted here to trap and punish little thieves like me, to keep them burning with unsatisfied, humiliating lust for hours on end. I struggle and squirm against my bonds, but I'm stuck. Utterly, pathetically helpless. Nothing to do but wait until morning, where I'll be exposed to the tender mercies of whoever comes along and finds me. My face burns with shame and anger. I hate losing, and now I've lost before I even got into the building.