…try and slip out the back door and escape into the night.

You breathe deep and calm yourself. There is only one way that is sure to get you out of this inn and that’s walking out the door; the back door to be precise. You only hope that the bearded man who threatened you isn’t as good of a watchman as he is a blackmailer. The man next to you stops talking when you stand up and walk away from him. Sensing the man’s confusion, his friend, still very much busy, turns to comfort him.

“MMmmfff! Struck out again ay? S’why you -huh- whys you don’t give em n-no, ****.”

You choose not to hear a word of it.

You walk not to the back door, but into the crowd before it, hoping to lose any watching eyes. Threading through the forest of tall people (or at least taller than you), you begin to make your way to the back exit, but accidently finding yourself on the periphery of its clearing. Caught in the scrum, you look down at what has drawn the pack and are once again shocked by the carnal savagery these people are capable of.

You see a limp woman, also ginger haired but looking younger than any of the others; about your own age in her early twenty’s, but it’s difficult to tell for several reasons. She lies on her back but not on the floor as a man seems to be beneath her, under her, resting her buttocks on his exposed hips. Meanwhile another man seems to be thrusting himself into her from between the front of her legs with such **** that her average sized breasts jiggle and bounce with the motion. Her head is lifted and tilted back by a third man, noisily pumping his member in and out of her slack jawed mouth in an act that must have some length behind; you see her throat rise and fall with the sliding intrusion.

The members of the crowd occasionally clean or rub their not so private parts with the girls damp hair or limp hands. One enterprising young man was even using one of her feet, though you can’t imagine why. You can’t imagine the why of any of this. Others seemed to be enjoying the show or simply waiting their turn, though most had a hand down the front of their trousers. The man thrusting between her legs shouts and surges forward, burying himself inside her so hard that he pushes her up the torso of the man below and visibly freeing her of his sodomy, much to his complaining. He bucks slightly as he remains insider her for a moment, while the man using her mouth finds himself now fully inside her, as far as he can go, and is slightly pushed back by the lips smeared about his base. Her neck and back arches. After a second, the man in her womanhood pulls out, leaving a fresh thin white line coming out of her abused flower; not the first, but before you have mind to count them, another member of the crowd quickly takes his place, pulling her down so the man beneath can slightly lifting her and spears her behind with his member. A single red line stands out in your mind; smeared dirty crimson among the other stains. Throughout it all, the woman being so thoroughly plugged doesn’t move, doesn’t tense, or makes any sound save gagged splutters; she just rocks and judders, limp and lifeless.

Your hands shake as you move on, hoping that her mind is in a better place than her body.

Winding again through the crowd, you find the blessed back door and move to it, seeking fresh air and freedom from what you have just seen as much as the man or to continue your mission. The night air hits your face, feeling cool after the stifling inn, and you look around while moving out of sight, seeing no sign of anyone. That’s no guarantee though. Your eyes struggle to adapt to the dark and your hearing is still deafened by the noise behind, leaving you paranoid and looking about with wide searching eyes. The street goes in two directions, one leading back in the vague direction of the path to the docks while the other leads further into the village and presumably to the mansion. Both are dark, empty, and reasonably small compared to the main road. At its narrowest point you think you could touch both sides of the road simply by lying down. There are some very dark and intimidating houses here, gutted or burned or stripped. They stare at you like eyeless skulls containing only darkness.

You walk down the empty dirt road towards your destination, following it around a corner that mirrors the one at the front of the inn. You see where the alley ends further ahead. It is not a dead end, splitting into even narrower paths between buildings, but it leaves you isolated from the inns light and much of its noise behind the corner, leaving a small street hidden from the view of the town.

A strange feeling grows in the pit of your stomach, as though it had reached conclusions your mind still works towards. You dodged the disgusting man’s ‘offer’, made your escape without anyone seeing, what more is there? You hear the sounds of footsteps behind you and you begin to turn. Mid way, you feel a **** smash into your side and send you slamming down to the tough compacted dirt path with whip like intensity. It takes a moment for you to feel the iron grip of crushing arms around your waist.

Your head hurts from the impact, but you can still look down your fallen body and see the head of your assailant, taking in its thinning hair before an angry mutton chopped face looks up at you.

“Knew yud run bitch! Too stupid to bend over! I’ll bend ya my own self!” You can smell the ale on his breath and coming off him in waves as he clambers on top of you. “Bend and bloody break ya!”

Releasing his hands from your waist, he sits up to straddle your stomach, his legs pinning your dagger against your thigh. Not good! Undaunted, but slightly breathless from your fall, you reach up to his face in an effort to attack his eyes, clawing at him with hooked fingers. His free arms snatch yours out of the air before your nails can make a mark, slamming them against the ground above your head. You start to kick up with your feet, trying to buck him off or knee him but all to no avail. He’s heavy, thick in gut and muscle.

He leans in close to your face and begins to whisper.

“I don’t know oo you are, but I know wot you gonna be…” He grows closer. Much closer. His eyes looking into your own and his mouth so close to yours that you feel his every breath on your face.

“Fucked.”

You nearly pass out from the combination of the booze on his breath and his designs on your body.

”Your either gonna lie there an moan like an ‘ore as I put a babe in yer belly, or yer can fight back an I drag yer little arse back to thi inn when am done, so they can break ya in proper.”

You lay there speechless as he transfers both your hands to one of his, holding them above your head. He reaches his free arm and begins to undo the single button on your jacket.

It’s time for some quick thinking. The first thought you panicked mind provides is to scream. The second is to fight back with everything you have, free your dagger and introduce him to it as violently as possible. The third is a vision of the mother riding her son, the way she used her mouth.