Their Turn With Her Body

Chapter 4: The Breaking of the Caravan (Part 4)

When the fire was finally lit, Lyra set about preparing the meal. It was a simple stew---dried meat, root vegetables, a handful of herbs---but the process of cooking it was a fresh humiliation. Every movement exposed her further. Reaching for the water bucket made her breasts sway and bob, the nipples catching the firelight. Bending over the pot gave everyone behind her an unobstructed view of her ass and pussy, the dark cleft of her sex framed by her spread thighs. Stirring the stew required both hands, which meant her chest was completely bare, her breasts jiggling with the motion of her arm. She tried to angle her body away from the men, but the fire was in the center of the camp, and she had to circle it to add ingredients, to taste the broth, to ladle the finished stew into bowls. Every angle offered a new, humiliating view of her nakedness.

She had never felt so exposed. So helpless. So utterly, completely stripped of every last shred of dignity.

When the stew was ready, she ladled it into bowls and began distributing them. There was no pretense of modesty now---she had nothing to cover herself with. She walked through the camp naked as the day she was born, her breasts swaying gently with each step, the nipples dark and tight in the cold air. Her pubic hair was a damp tangle, the lips of her sex visible with every stride. Her buttocks flexed as she walked, the cleft between them shifting with each step. She could feel eyes on every part of her---on her breasts, her stomach, the curve of her hips, the shadow between her legs.

The mercenaries took their bowls without comment, but their eyes said everything. Some stared openly, their gazes hungry and unashamed. Others glanced away, uncomfortable but unwilling to offer help. Pip kept his eyes fixed on the ground, his face burning red.

Dren was the last. She handed him his bowl, and their eyes met. His gaze flicked down---to her breasts, her nipples, the dark triangle of hair below---and then back up to her face.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She nodded, unable to speak.

He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else. Then he took his bowl and walked away, leaving her alone with the fire and the stars and the cold, pitiless night.

She had intended to sleep. Truly, she had.

She had found a spot near the edge of the wagon circle, as far from the fire as she could get without leaving the safety of the camp. She lay on her side in the mud, her body curled into a tight ball of shivering flesh, her hands pressed between her thighs in a futile attempt to warm herself and cover her sex at the same time. But her hands were small, and her body was cold, and the position left her buttocks and the small of her back completely exposed to the night air.

She was drifting toward an exhausted, shivering half-sleep when she heard the footsteps.

Multiple sets, this time. Coming closer.

"Little mouse," a voice whispered---Galt's voice, harsh and hungry. "Time to pay for your passage."

Lyra's eyes snapped open.

Three figures loomed over her in the darkness, their faces half-hidden by the dying firelight. Galt. Another mercenary she didn't recognize. And---

Dren.

He stood slightly apart from the others, his expression unreadable. But he made no move to stop them.

"Voss doesn't feed you," Galt murmured, crouching down to her level. His eyes crawled over her naked body---the pale swell of her breasts, the dark nipples tight with cold and fear, the trembling curve of her belly, the exposed mound between her thighs. "Doesn't transport you out of charity. Everything has a price, little mouse. You just don't know it yet."

Lyra scrambled backward, her bare heels digging into the mud. The movement spread her legs, and she saw Galt's eyes drop to the brief, humiliating flash of her pussy before she could clamp her thighs together. "Stay away from me."

"Or what?" The other mercenary laughed. "What are you going to do? Scream? Everyone here knows what you are. What you're for."

Her hand closed on something---a rock, half-buried in the mud. She clutched it, her knuckles white.

"I said stay back!"

She swung.

The rock connected with Galt's cheekbone with a sickening crack. He reeled backward, howling in pain and surprise. Blood streamed down his face, black in the firelight.

"You little bitch!"

But Lyra was already running.

She ran barefoot through the camp, her naked body a pale blur in the darkness. She ran past the wagons, past the startled horses, past Pip who stared with wide eyes from his bedroll. The firelight caught her as she fled---illuminating the bounce of her breasts, the flex of her buttocks, the flash of her pale soles as they pounded against the mud. She ran until she reached the treeline, and then she kept running, plunging into the forest without looking back.

Branches whipped at her face and breasts. Roots tripped her feet. The mud sucked at her heels. A low-hanging bough scraped across her stomach, leaving a red welt on her bare skin. But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

Behind her, the shouts of the mercenaries faded into the night.

She ran until she couldn't run anymore.

When she finally collapsed, it was at the base of a massive oak tree, its roots forming a shallow hollow in the earth. She crawled into the hollow and curled up, her body trembling with cold and exhaustion and fear. The bark was rough against her bare back. The mud was cold against her bare buttocks. The night air was freezing against her bare breasts, her nipples so tight they ached.

She was naked. Completely, utterly naked---not a stitch of clothing, not a scrap of fabric, not a single thread to cover any part of her body. Her breasts were bare, her stomach was bare, her sex was bare, her buttocks were bare. Every inch of her skin was exposed to the elements and to the eyes of anyone who might find her.

She was alone. She was lost in a strange forest in a strange world, with no clothes, no money, no weapons, and no allies.

But she was alive.