A petite drow

Standing before the cowering, extremely vulnerable Hilda is a small dark elf.

She's about 4' 10" tall, dressed completely in black, billowy robes that cover her whole body, and would cover her face too, if she had her hood up. She has no obvious weapon, but is leaning on what appears to be a large cane, or walking stick.

"Oh dear, you've made quite the mess of yourself," the drow chuckles as she paces around her weak, frightened, and oh-so-voluptuous prey.

Dark elves were known to be some of the fiercest and cruelest people in all the land, adept with both the sword and the spell, and here Hilda was, sitting completely naked and vulnerable, out of shape and unarmed, mud all over her soft, extra-snugglable body. It was taking all of the once-mighty warrior's resolve not to start bawling while she wet herself.

"W-who are y-you?" The terrified ex-knight says, unable to keep her voice from cracking. "W-what do you want?"

"I'll ask the questions here, little one," the dark elf says mockingly. "You appear to be in no shape to demand anything of me."

Hilda gulped and shifted one hand down to her crotch while the other smushed her enormous breasts together in a futile attempt to cover herself.

"Stand up," the drow barks, pointing her stick at Hilda. "Arms at your sides. I want to see you."

Hilda shivers and whimpers, doing everything in her power to not cry.

"All of you..." the elf says, licking her lips as she lustily gazes at the utterly despoiled and disgraced noble woman.