Used!

The lead grunt barked a harsh order, and the five orcs surged into the tent. Instead of shoving us into the cell, they unlatched Korant’s cage, dragged him roughly out into the open by his arms, and lined the three of us up shoulder-to-shoulder right in the middle of the dirt floor.

Without missing a beat, calloused hands stripped away our remaining tunics and boots, tossing our gear into a messy pile in the corner.

Korant stood between Uthul and me, utterly naked, his face burning a fiery crimson as he tried (and failed) to cover himself with his hands. Uthul, on the other hand, just stood there in all her bare green glory, casually rolling her shoulders and taking in the view.

“Well,” Uthul drawled, casting a critical eye down at Korant’s trembling form. “I must say, Sir Flustered, you certainly have a remarkably perky backside for a paladin. Royal training must be rigorous.”
“By the Light, woman, have you no sense of decency?!” Korant squeaked, shutting his eyes tight as a bright red blush rushed all the way down to his chest. I could sense that his demeanour was no longer as proud and knightly as it was just a few days ago. “My lord, please! Make her look away!”
“Oh, relax,” Uthul smirked, winking at me over Korant’s head. “We’re all friends here now!”
“Not for long!” the lead grunt boomed, stepping up behind Korant with a wide, yellow-toothed grin. “Time for the nightly inspection!”

I like this, but I want you to emphasise how Uthul's demeanour slowly broke as time went by and the grunt focused on her even more.

For the next hour, the tent turned into a chaotic, rowdy spectacle of total subjection. The grunts took turns using the three of us right where we stood, lined up side-by-side in full view of one another. They forced Korant onto his hands and knees, grabbing his hips firmly to drive their thick lengths into his sore, thoroughly worked-over backside. He buried his face in the dirt, groaning in dramatic, wounded pride as every heavy thrust sent ripples through his trembling body, his cheeks burning crimson under their unrelenting attention.

Right beside him, two grunts pinned Uthul over a heavy wooden crate, taking her simultaneously from both ends. At first, even with one thick shaft forced deep into her throat and another mounting her broad green backside, Uthul maintained her defiance. She rolled her eyes and threw sarcastic glances sideways to mock the mutineers’ efforts, but as the minutes dragged on, the grunts doubled down on her, eager to crush their former leader’s smug composure. They redoubled their pace, driving into her with relentless, punishing force, filling the tent with the noise of their balls slapping violently against her ass and chin. Slowly, her confident smirk dissolved. Her muffled jokes gave way to genuine, breathless gasps, her knuckles turning white as she clawed helplessly at the wood beneath her. Her stubborn dignity unraveled under the sheer intensity of the assault for the second time today!

Meanwhile, I was pulled back-first against a massive grunt who locked his calloused arms around my waist, lifting me slightly as he guided his thick, throbbing length into my not-so-tight-anymore asshole. He set a brutal, rhythmic pace that stretched me wide, tearing moan after moan from my mouth, filling me completely until my knees buckled and I had to rely entirely on his grip to stay upright. Every time Korant let out a scandalized gasp or a frantic prayer, Uthul could no longer offer a sarcastic retort, but only desperate, muffled whimpers as she was relentlessly used beside us.

The grunts swapped places repeatedly, taking their time to ensure every one of us was thoroughly taken and filled from behind. By the time they finally satisfied themselves, the three of us were completely spent, breathless, and liberally coated in thick, warm streams of spunk dripping down our buttocks, thighs, and chests. Uthul slumped forward, her chest heaving, her fierce pride entirely shattered by the ordeal. Drunk on victory and grog, the mutineers dragged our limp, sticky bodies back against the central tent pole, binding our wrists tightly together behind us in a messy, naked row before staggering outside to rejoin the roaring bonfire.

Exhausted, sticky, and thoroughly used, the three of us slumped heavily against each other in the dim, flickering lantern light.

Uthul nudged my sticky shoulder with her bare green one, a sharp, incredibly smug grin cutting through the messy spunk on her face. “Well, little human... they’re drunk, they’re satisfied, and they think we’re completely broken. I’d say our timing is just about perfect.”