Suggest making her serve as a barmaid.

"Make her serve us as a barmaid!" you call out. "A naked barmaid!" Your voice cuts through the crowd. Gudrun nods in agreement.

"By Hogun's helmet!" she says. "The wench shall make a fine barmaid! What say you, wench? Shall you serve us willingly?"

"Are you crazy? Of course not!"

"Then you shall serve us unwillingly! Someone fetch a rope!"

Soon enough Livia is shuffling through the tavern, carrying a platter of drinks, wearing nothing but a lacy little apron that barely covers her pussy and leaves her bottom bare. Her ankles have been tied together with a rope, preventing her from moving too fast or trying to run away. As she creeps around, handling out drinks and wiggling her little ass, people keep grabbing the apron and flipping it up to show her pussy off to everyone at their table. She squeals in protest every time. She's blushing like a rose, pretty and utterly ashamed.

A good start. But you're not satisfied. There must be other women in the tavern that you can play pranks on. You catch Gudrun's eye and beckon her over to your table.

"Hey," you say to her. "Isn't this a little cruel? What did that poor girl ever do to you?"

Gudrun laughs. "She spilt my drink, stranger! Nobody transgresses against Gudrun the Great and escapes with their dignity intact!"

"How would you feel if somebody did that to you?"

"Hah!" Gudrun plants herself in the seat opposite you. "I am Gudrun the Great, Gudrun the Unconquered! Nobody could hold to defeat me in such a simple fashion! Certainly not a scrawny little creature like yourself!"

"You're calling me scrawny?"

"I could eat ten of you for breakfast, you little shrimp."

"You want to bet on that?"

"You dare to challenge me? Gudrun the Great? Very well! Never let it be said that I have refused a fair fight." Gudrun plants her elbow on the table and offers you her hand. "We shall wrestle! My arm against yours, my strength against yours. The loser shall..."

"The loser shall serve as a naked barmaid in this very tavern, each day and each evening until the Festival of Fools. And they shall do anything the patrons ask of them, no matter how ridiculous or demeaning."

"A splendid wager! Exquisite shame for the loser and splendid triumph for the victor, who shall be me, of course. I accept! And I vow on the Nine Moons of Murgoth that the forfeit shall be paid."

"As do I." You plant your own elbow on the table and take her hand. "On the count of three, then. One... two..."