"What is your name?"

"My name is Juriah," she replies, her head still bowed. The flickering candlelight only accentuates her curvy figure, while masking the shabbiness of her ragged clothing.

"Then, Juriah," you say with confidence. "Defrock yourself. I am to ride early in the morrow, so I will make this quick for you."

You prop yourself on your elbow to watch as Juriah undresses. She takes little time to remove her apron, smock, and skirt; once finished she stands with her hands at her sides, weathering your stare and awaiting another command. Her slender arms stretch long past her thin waist, resting on tanned thighs. You judge her tits to be her finest quality, considering that her ass is smaller than many of the wenches back home.

When you stretch out your hand to beckon her closer, she obeys without delay. After running a hand down her cheek, you smile.

"Undress me," you say, gesturing to your clothed body.

Juriah dutifully unclips yourself belt, pulls the toggles of your tunic, and slides your breeches down to your ankles. Your own body is muscular and fit, marked with several bruises, cuts, and scars. Juriah takes a look at a large, relatively-fresh one on your chest, but says nothing.

"I've had worse," you tell her, still grinning.