Thread: flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo (NoxRogue)

RE Flectere Si Equeo Superos, Achaeronta Movebo NoxRogue She had been so wrong about this town. And she felt it worsening the more she saw of these men. If they could even be called such. She hadnt enjoyed being manhandled from her wagon, and she was far less pleased about their plan for she and her caravan. And in such, shed fought them, thrashed against them until she was met with a sharp, stabbing pain in her side which was followed by an instant high that sent her head reeling. Her lips parted, trembling as she felt her knees getting rubbery, weak beneath her. And she may have been thankful for the men who had caught her, had she not had to immediately deal with wandering hands. Filthy, large, wondering hands. Exhaling through parted lips, she felt her eyes rolling before her head followed suit. Shed set eyes on the Methuselah as they dragged her in, separated her from the young ones. He looked worse off than she was, which was a stretch. The next few days for her or perhaps it had only been a few hours, were miserable. Her entire body was burning. Her mind was foggy and her hips ached. Screams and cries reached her ears, often. And though her mind willed her body to move forward, to fight, she had never made any lee-way. Theyd always been stronger than her, quicker than her. And so much heavier than her. And as certain screams could no longer be heard, her chest tightened. Children they were just children She hadnt had much time to mourn them as she felt a powerful jerk. Hard enough to cause her head to snap back and ram into the headboard. Or was it a wall? Her mind was fogged again, a mind reeling high accompanying her body was man after man poured in and out of her body. Ride after ride until her body was numb to them, numb to their bites and scratches. Numb to the consisting ramming of hardened members crashing violently into a weakening cervix. And in a million years, she never saw herself in this position. Being the inevitable death of children wrapped up in an opium den, being little more than a petite whore for ruffians to use and abuse. Her entire body was wracked with shame, guilt, and fear. Pure terror. Was she going to die here? After a few hours, she felt her body stilling, no wandering hands. No scratchy beards, just relief. A coolness washing over bare skin that could only be akin to something she would experience in Heaven. If, of course, such a thing had ever existed. Emerald eyes finally opened, resting tiredly on a familiar face. A shackled Methuselah, faces buzzing around her quickly. Almost too quickly. She licked her lips, only succeeding in reminding her exactly how dry her mouth really was. Bruises settled on her shoulders and sides, along her hips and even on the delicate curve of her neck. They very curve he had previously explored. An encounter she was beginning to regret avoiding. Thoughts were immediately cut short as a rather unfriendly grasp closed around her chin, jerking her to face him. Another fucking thug . Terrible breath and a terrible drug problem. Whispering trash into her ear, as if she was supposed to be enjoying it. Like she had been waiting for this man all night. She found herself groaning, trying to move her hands, although being unable to do so. Theyd made rather sure that she would oppose no threat to them or their customers.