They leave the duchess with nothing

"N-no! Not those!" Gwendolyn pleads as one of her robbers hooks her fingers into the waistband of her final garment and slowly, sensually pulls them down the despoiled woman's wide, milky-white, trembling hips.

Greta gasps. The duchess obviously doesn't think much of personal grooming, if the thick, wild, untamed thatches of hair in her arm pits and atop her pussy are any indication. But that isn't what shocks the maid.

"What's going on?" Belinda frantically whispers as Greta's face goes red and she starts to fan herself.

Gwenolyn shivers as she stands there naked, hands resting on her head as her legs are lifted one at a time and her boxer shorts are taken away.

Glistening in the night, like a beacon in that thick, jungly pussy pelt is a shiny piece of metal.

"Oh-ho, what's this?" One of the peasants mocks as she squats down between Gwendolyn's legs. "Trying to hold out on us, eh?" She asks as she gives the object a playful tug.

The not-so-reserved duchess moans like a whore as her knees buckle.

"Care to explain this?" The peasant leader asks as she tugs on the clit ring again.

Love juices dribble down the duchess's fruitful thighs as she weakly grabs on to the robber for support.