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Sian's story part 8 - Innocence, You're Alone Here



It took another day and a half to reach Riverwood, though this time it was through civilized lands – a wide, packed road surrounded by farms and pastures, with plenty of traffic protected by gobs of guards and soldiers. I passed a large walled city (Whiterun, I was told, though the person who told me seemed incredulous that I wouldn’t know that already) and then came to a crossroads. I asked the guard stationed there which path to take to Riverwood. He pointed but added, "But you don't want to go to Riverwood. It's not safe - they don't even have walls." I thanked him and kept on, not realizing that his innocent-seeming statement was a harbinger.


The sun was blazing its last glory on the distant horizon as I began to climb the hills toward Riverwood. The wiser course would have been to find a place to sleep and finish the journey the next day but I had that same burr up my butt – Riverwood called to me, so close I could taste it. I was certain Edith would know how to send me home (spoiler alert: she didn’t).


It was the middle of the night – probably three to four AM, I’d guess - when I reached the tranquil town. A couple of dogs barked. One slave walked down the street, eyes on the ground. The rest of the town was dead asleep. I stepped through the opening of a stout wooden palisade that formed an entryway to the town. I had not even an inkling of a hint about the four men who were hiding behind it until they jumped me.


One hit me in the head, another pounded a mace against my leg. I staggered, fell to a knee, tried to scramble away while shouting for help as hands grabbed my hips and yanked me backward. The slave ducked her head lower and disappeared around a far corner.  The rest of the town stayed dark.


Multiple hands gripped me, yanked me partially up, dragged me back under the gateway. I kicked and screamed until one of them cut open my cheek with a knife. It burned like fire but I clamped my jaw shut, eyes staring at the blade. Message received.


We reached a flat grassy area near the bridge that crosses the noisy river that passes next to the town and they dumped me down. I turned and tried to scramble away, but they just laughed and grabbed me again, yanking me up so I was on my knees. My arms were held above my head in a grip strong enough to hurt while another hand grabbed by hair and held my head still. The knife flashed and I winced, but it went for the straps holding Lysha’s armor together instead of my skin. The leather fell away in pieces, exposing my shoulders, my back, then my chest and stomach. I felt goosebumps rise and my nipples peak at the caress of the cool night air. I struggled against their hands as they forced me down, ground my face into the grass, yanked my legs back and forced them to stillness as they pulled off the fur boots and cut away the lower portion of the armor, leaving me exposed and helpless to block the hands that now pawed against my bare skin.


They flipped me over like so much baggage and rough hands with grips like steel yanked my legs apart. Someone gave perfunctory service to the idea of lubrication with their spit before the first one planked over me, his arms planted on each side of my head. The spit wasn't nearly enough - I couldn’t stop a sharp cry as his dick stabbed into me with a painful thrust. And "stabbed" is as apt a word as one could use in this situation - I felt fire rush through me, like a saw was cutting me open. Tears streaked down my cheeks and I could not control the sobs that pushed themselves from my lungs in staccato bursts. Someone covered my mouth with his hand, so I bit it, eliciting a yelp and a hard slap across the face. A moment later, the hand was replaced by a rag.


That actually helped - I clamped down on it as hard as I could as the torment continued. I lost all sense of time. It felt like hours before I felt the warm spurt of the first man coming inside of me  I started to slump, but a second grabbed me by the hair and jerked me to my knees, then yanked the cloth out of my mouth and replaced it with his dirty dick. I'm actually pretty good at giving blow jobs, but even had I been willing, that wasn't really what he was after. Rape is not about sex - it's about power. And I was powerless. I did think about biting down, but I clung to the thin hope of going home and chose not to die.


In between men, they forced liquids down my throat, laughing as I coughed. The liquids, I soon discovered, held some form of drug - the world became a kaleidoscope of color, and strange energy ran through my body. They were not, alas, pain killers or sedatives. If anything, they heightened the pain. 


The third followed the lead of the first, except he did it from behind, turning me over and forcing my face back into the ground as he held my arms at a painful angle behind my back. Blessings counted: one - he did not shove it up my ass. So that was something. Also, the first man's come acted as a lubricant, so the pain was somewhat lessened. Two blessings. And here my mother always said I only look at the negative side of things.


There was a faint pink glow in the sky as the third finished and the fourth started stripping. I laid on the cool ground and enjoyed the brief moment of peace, unaware of the commotion that had sprung up behind me until the fourth man abruptly pulled his pants back on and grabbed for his sword, only to collapse beside me a moment later. He was close enough that I could make out details though my drugged haze, and I watched with detached interest as the one eye that didn't have an arrow sticking out of it turned glassy.


Moments later, I heard mumbling voices.


"No, it's okay. She's not a slave. You were right."


"Thank the Divines. I'd hate to face the Jarl's court for murder."


The first voice, a little closer: "Are you all right, miss?"


I forced myself to lift my head from the cool grass. I couldn't make out the features of my saviors – the colors had faded but everything remained blurry - but I mumbled my thanks and assured him I'd be okay. Moments later I felt a soft warmth around my shoulders, and tender arms lifted me. I tried to protest, but I was so, so tired. I closed my eyes and let the world go black.


Don’t feed the bastards – they’ll just want more

Edited by jfraser


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