Ciri is taken by the bandits (MMMF, )

Ciri gasped as the cock slipped from her mouth. She swallowed what she could, forcing the bitter salty fluid down her throat and into her stomach. The rest leaked from her lips, smearing over her chin and dripping onto her bare breasts. She looked up at the filthy man and his filthy cock, her saliva still hung in long strings from his shaft as he stumbled backward with a stupid grin on his face and drank from the wine bottle he had pilfered from Caleb's tent.

Caleb was dead. A fact she did not seem to mind. Men behind her laughed at a joke she did not hear. Most of the belongings Caleb had left were now scattered outside the tent around the fire. The bandits had done quick work in ransacking his gear, dividing up the goods and booze and coin.

They had made quicker work with her. They called her a whore, brandished weapons and warned her not to fight what was about to happen, she hadn't. One of the men had buried himself six inches inside her before half the men knew that she was even there. Since then they had passed her around, shared just like they shared Caleb’s wine.

Eight men, she had counted, eight men she had fucked. She sat in a daze, naked and bare in the dirt beside the fire its flames giving off a comforting warmth. She could feel the cum on her face beginning to dry, she could feel it seep from her well-used cunt as well leaving trails of it running down her thighs. She hadn’t the energy to try to clean herself, she hadn’t the will to fight them. She simply sat there staring ahead and the dancing flames and waited for the next man to take her.

At least three of them were ex-military their leader included. She figured by the way they spoke and held themselves, deserters most likely, crime could pay much better than the army in times like these.

One of those three approached her, tugging her up with an arm.

She didn't resist as he led her away, it had been days since she had last resisted to anything. No, not days, weeks, maybe months. He motioned her with an unsteady arm. She could smell **** on his breath. Obediently she knelt down onto all fours and turned her head to watch him.

He mumbled something incoherent, his hand gliding over her ass as he dug into his pants for his cock. Eight men she thought, bandits and **** and murderers. He took his shaft in hand, slipping it up and down the curve of her ass moaning to himself.

They would keep fucking her. She knew that. She felt the head of his cock press against her lower lips, and she held back a pleasurable gasp. The man rocked back and away with a drunken sway. They thought her a whore, that Caleb had been a wealthy patron who wanted some time alone with her. Now she was theirs to use as they saw fit, until they bored of her.

She looked back at the man who was seemingly dazed himself, nearly **** on his feet his soft cock in his hand.

Laughter erupted behind him. “Whiskey dick piece of shit,” one of the other men laughed and pushed the man aside, letting him stumble down to the ground. He stood before her, “I ain't got that problem.” Ciri turned away, closed her eyes and arched her hips offering herself to the newcommer.

==

She awoke the next morning with the sun’s rays warm against her face and the smell of burnt coals in the air. Her body ached, nearly every muscle felt tired and worn. She held back the groan and opened her eyes. Giving a quick glance upwards at the sun, it was nearly noon.

She moved and felt stiff, her body covered in dried dirt and mud, cum and sweat. Her stomach turned, how long had it been since she had ate, had drank anything other than a man’s seed. Most of the bandits were ****, sleeping or passed out it hardly mattered, many were scattered around the campfire, a few in the tent. One of them was sitting on a log, whittling on a piece of wood.

He eyed her a moment but went back to work. She moved to stand.

“Where ya think you're going?” the whittling man asked.

Ciri blinked, god she was exhausted, god she felt terrible, her muscles throbbed, her head rang.

“I need to clean up,” she said softly, she motioned to the south where there was a small creek not a hundred paces away. He grunted in reply and she took that as an okay to go.

“Don’t try running off ya hear, we’ll find you, and you won’t like it when we do.”

She didn't reply, instead carefully stepped over two sleeping men then grabbed the clothes she could find and made her way down the creek.

The water was cold as ice, but it felt good to be clean. She washed herself quickly, splashing the water onto her lips and belly before rubbing her skin harshly, she repeated the process until her skin was red and raw but relatively clean. She slipped her clothes back on, leaving her trousers and shirt only partially laced knowing they would soon be torn off her body once again.

More men were awake when she returned, some watched as she entered the camp, others tended to their own business, she glanced over to where Caleb’s body lay, they would need to dispose of that soon before it began gathering unwanted attention from the local wildlife.

But she had bigger things to deal with, she went to the tent, finding the leader there sitting on Calab’s bed, her sword in his hand. He looked at her, then back at the sword.

“Fine piece of workmanship,” he said before standing, he slipped back into its sheath then wrapped the belt around his waist. He gave her an approving leer before he looked away and seemed to consider his surroundings.

Ciri watched. It would be clear to anyone with half a brain that this tent did not belong to a hunter or farmer or even a traveling merchant. On its own, without the dozen other tents that had originally made up the camp it seemed out of place. Her sword alone would have tipped most off.

“You were not very upset with the untimely demise of your friend last night,” he moved to stand in front of Ciri, his hand raising to her chin titling her head up to look at him

“He wasn’t my friend,” Ciri answered back.

“You didn’t put up a fight either, most women would have kicked and screamed and tried to run.”

Ciri glanced down at the table, a leather bound case lay beside it on the ground. Glass vials were spilled out onto the ground, most of them broken. “Would it have helped?”

He smiled in response, “It’s always good when a woman knows her place. Did he pay you well?” he asked, and continued at her raised brow. “I assume our dead foolish noble decided he wanted a little trist away from town, away from prying eyes. Had servants set up this little hideaway and bought you did he not?”

“Something like that,” Ciri said, she looked at her sword on his hip.

“Your ‘not a friend’ left us enough supplies for one more night,” he said, looking her over. “It’s been a hard few weeks for my men and they deserve a break. You behave one more night and you can go on your way.”

Ciri looked at the man, clearly ex military, his eyes were bright, intelligent and lying. If he thought Caleb to be anyone of importance he could never risk leaving her alive as a witness.

“One night,” Ciri whispered her eyes drifting down to the growing bulge in his pants. He nodded in response.