Use a Charm spell.

Shairi’s hands were still free, and now she moved her fingers in a quick gesture, focusing her will and magic. She cast the Charm spell, and watch as the elf woman’s expression changed. From the way she shifted, Shairi knew her pussy was rapidly moistening. That was, of course, the point of the charm spell – it filled the target with affection and desire for the caster.

The woman sheathed her knife. “No…” she said slowly, her new feelings permeating through her. “No, that’d be a waste. She’s pretty cute.”

The man shrugged. “Well, can’t argue with that. Let’s **** the bitch first.”

“Shut up, Iurath,” the woman snapped. “I’m in charge here.”

“Come on,” the elf replied, sounding annoyed. “All half-elves are good for is fucking. If we’re not going to use her, we might as well kill her.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t for fucking,” Verima said slowly, marshalling her spell-twisted thoughts. “But it’s a waste to just **** her quickly in the middle of the woods. I think we’ll take her back with us. She’d make a nice toy for the village, and I could use a servant. After all, I am the chieftain’s daughter.”

Silently, Shairi cursed to herself. Charm had been one of the first spells she learned – her mother had favoured it to enchant those (few) lovers she desired who she couldn’t just win over with a flash of her milky-white tits. It was often called ‘the Whore’s Spell’ for that very reason. She’d taught it to all three of her daughters, and Shairi had improved her mastery studying books at Meritheir’s tower. But she’d forgotten how limited the spell was – it couldn’t change someone’s overall attitude to the caster. A **** who managed to use the spell on her master would become a pampered, spoiled fucktoy – but he wouldn’t free her.

And, ironically, ‘fucktoy’ seemed to be just the role the wood elf woman had in mind for her prisoner. With a stroke of her knife, she cut the snare, catching Shairi before she fell.

“Well,” one of the men said, “If she’s a toy, she shouldn’t be wearing clothes, should she?”

Verima paused for a moment, but apparently the spell had left her with a desire to see Shairi naked that was stronger than her desire to save the half-elf humiliation. She nodded, and in a moment her subordinates had torn away Shairi’s clothes. Their hands roamed over the witch’s slender, nude body, squeezing her breasts and sliding between her thighs.

“Stop that,” Verima snapped. There was a pause, and the men reluctantly obeyed.

“Well carry her into town the way we would any other hunting trophy,” the woman declared. “Truss her to a pole.”

And so Shairi found herself tied up naked and being carried through the woods on a pole by two elf hunters who, whenever their leader wasn’t looking, took the opportunity to grope her.

“The chief won’t be happy about you bringing a half-blood abomination home,” one of them muttered.

“You just leave my father to me,” Verima said.

Shairi was far from happy with her situation, and worried about what would happen when they arrived at the wood elf village. Still, it was better than getting her throat cut.