The sun had dipped partway into the distant horizon like a satisfied man in a bath when they arrived at what appeared to be a mine, except there were a number of ragged tents staked out around it. HE inquired and discovered it to be a makeshift refugee camp.

 

“Just our luck,” HE muttered as they she set up their own small camp on the outskirts, somewhat away from the refugees. “I had hoped to make some money tonight but these cowards don’t have a septim to split between them. Finish setting up and rest. We should be in Morthal tomorrow night. You’ll need your strength. I’m going to talk to whoever lives in the house up there.”

 

She bowed her head in acquiescence, secretly relieved. She would do whatever HE asked, of course, without hesitation, but the smell wafting from the camp was…unpleasant, to say the least. She laid out HIS blanket as HE strolled away, then began to build the fire.

 

HE hadn’t returned by the time the small meal was finished, so she ate her portion, covered HIS in a cloth near the banked fire to keep it warm, and curled up in a ball at the feet of HIS blanket. Cold and uncomfortable as the ground was, she was asleep in moments.

 

She slept deeply and, after some measureless sleep time, she had a dream. This was, itself, unusual – she had not had a dream since…since sometime. Whenever her mind strayed to the thought while she was awake, the best she could conjure were vague memories of feeling certain that she had had dreams at some long lost point. But here one was, in the form of a light touch on her hip.

 

She dreamed of a hand running along her thigh, then back up to her hip and then between her legs, pressing into her, gently at first, then with quickened force.

 

This pressure woke her up, only to find that it had not been a dream after all – someone was pressed against her back, and she felt a hand slide further inside her. She bit back her instinct to cry out. Clearly HE had returned while she was sleeping and had decided to make use of HIS property. The thought made her relax, and she parted her thighs so HE could reach her more readily.

 

It took only a couple more heartbeats for the fog of sleep to clear enough for her to realize something was wrong. First, it was the stench, as if a dozen unwashed bodies were gathered all around. She opened her eyes and cast her gaze about and discovered a dozen unwashed bodies were gathered all around. And the one pressed against her was far too narrow to be HIM.

 

Too late, she realized that the refugees had decided they didn’t need money to make use of her. She opened her mouth to call out to HIM but a hand clamped over it.

 

“No noise, now. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

 

Strong hands – not as strong as HIS, but strong enough – yanked her to her back and the greasy-haired form of her attacker blocked out the clear sky, one hand still over her mouth. The attacker leered at her as he licked his other hand and started rubbing at her entrance with enthusiastic gusto.

 

“It won’t matter soon anyhow,” the attacker added. The hand finished its sloppy work and moved to her head, gripping her hair as her attacker adjusted to align to her. “Your master will make a fine slave himself.” A painful thrust buried the attacker’s cock inside her and she let out an involuntary but muffled yelp from under the rancid hand. “He’s in there getting drunk right now, but Soril made sure he got more than just ale.”

 

Each word was punctuated by a jab. She had endured the long night in Dawnstar and two other inns since, but somehow this one narrow slimy man was worse than any of that. The first tears she had felt since she could even remember began to dribble down her face as the pace quickened and slimy man stopped talking and started grunting instead.

 

Moments later she felt the shudder and the hot spurt inside her but Slimy paused a moment more to leer into her face. “Guess that makes you ours as well, now don’t it? Finders keepers and all that. Things are finally looking up.” A slap across her face and Slimy finally lifted away, but she had no time or chance to move or call out or anything else – the others pounded like rabid wolves.

 

It was worse, by far, than even Dawnstar had been. There were no breaks for water, no orderly queue. Just cocks jabbing at her from all angles. Her ass, her cunt, her mouth, her hands, her breasts, all of them felt filled without pause, leaving her to wonder at these men’s ability to bend their bodies around each other to reach her all at once. She might have been impressed, had she not been the center of their dubious attention.

 

She did not struggle. Her training took over and she did her best to accommodate the flurry of cocks, sucking and swallowing putrid cum until she ran out of saliva, at which point she stopped swallowing and used one load to moisten the next cock. It did not take long for long stringy white strands to dribble down her chin to mix with the trampled ground to form a sort of thick pasty mud.

 

At the same time, she rubbed at everything that touched her hands, which sometimes meant more than one cock per hand, while simultaneously spreading her legs as far as she could to stretch her double openings as wide as possible, both to accommodate and to ease her pain as well as she could. Though it did not take long for the pain to become less, as more and more loads created a slick and protective coating.

 

The sun was just beginning its reverse performance from the night before on the opposite end of the sky when the last finally grunted his seed into her cunt. She collapsed to the ground, sucking in air as if she had just run a mile, only to feel hands on her again. She bit her tongue to keep from moaning as she tried to force her weary body back up. A pair of hands grabbed her by the hair and arm and forced the issue. A moment later, she found herself face to face with Slimy.

 

“You’re ours now. Say it.”

 

She licked her thick cum-encrusted tongue over her dry lips and croaked, “I’m yours now. Master.”

 

“Good! Beast he may be, but he knows how to train slaves. Still, I’m not taking any chances. Come on.” Another yank got her to shaky feet and she stumbled along with the hand that still gripped her arm.

 

They were just finishing a makeshift wooden X in the center of the camp, so Slimy gripped her arm and held her in place. Had she been asked, she would have said with complete honesty that she would not even think about running, but they did not ask and she did not speak. She knew her place. When the X was complete, she stepped forward without being compelled and placed her arms and legs against the wood, standing stoically as her wrists, ankles, thighs, and biceps were tied tight.

 

When they were finished, Slimy ran his hands down her body, squeezing her nipples and fingering her sopping cunt as slowly drying cum began to thicken on her thighs, chest, face, and belly. When Slimy at last stepped away and she was left splayed but alone, she slumped as well as her bindings would allow. Her chin drooped to her chest, every inhale a sickening reminder, and closed her eyes. Weariness fought a brief but ultimately victorious battle with protesting joints and she somehow fell into an uneasy slumber.

 

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