Stripped and manhandled

Lavorra stumbles forward into the midst of the waiting bandits. With the five she sees before her, the total of their little band is eight, and it feels as though the entire group is upon her as they crowd in.

She screws her eyes shut, but the sight of the clearing - tents and bedrolls strewn around an unlit bonfire - is burned into her mind. She feels hands rove her body, squeezing and weighing her large chest and the curves of her ass. One hand grips her chin as another pair pull her by the waist. Her hips bend and she opens her eyes, looking up at the blond bandit.

His name is Kurt, and the old One-eye is Abnur, she has learned. But any other information is just background noise as she sinks into the horror of her situation.

“Already had her on the road lads. You wouldn’t believe the mouths these Elf sluts have.” Kurt crows to a chorus of jeers and crass comments. The lie is pointless at this stage, but still stings.

“Pass her this way!”

“It’s that rump I want, you could bounce a golden dragon off it!”

“Get her stripped, I want to see those udders flying!”

“You wish.” She growls at Kurt, and almost feels a thrill of victory as he blushes under his comrades’ mocking laughter.

Her small measure of success doesn’t last though, as Kurt’s knife comes out again. He grips her by the collar and she thinks she’s pushed too far, until the blade comes down, slicing easily through her shirt, baring her chest. Her breasts spill free, and then their hands are upon her again.

“Get your hands -“ she hisses, but her defiance is cut short by a yelp of pain as Kurt slaps her this time. She is dragged onto the ground, and the blond bandit hacks at her britches, his blade catching at her thighs as they’re cut away, leaving her naked save for her boots. Her hands still bound behind her back, she tries to kick him off, and manages to catch him in the chest.

But as Kurt stumbles back, Abnur seizes her by the hair, pulling her up to her knees as two of his fellows close in around her, unbuckling their belts. Lavorra shudders, her breathing rapid, as she looks up at the men with eyes that struggle to remain defiant.

“She’s mine first.” Lorkans voice cuts through their excited chattering.

Abnur grumbles, and the others groan, but she finds herself being dragged by the hair and flung to the dirt in front of Lorkan, who - his shirt removed to reveal a broad, muscular tanned chest - sits atop a felled stump.

Lavorra picks herself up with difficulty, eyeing him warily. Unable to cover herself with her arms bound, she can do nothing to stop him drinking in the sight of her bared breasts.

“You don’t have to do this.” She murmurs, her hair falling over her face, as she looks up at him, pleading.

“No, I really do.” He replies, eyes seeming to cloud over with malice.