[dutifulrose] 
Elilandra Rose Svalfissonan / Obedience
Cordelia's heart skipped a beat; the plover's call was unmistakable, yet she knew none of its kin dwelt here. Her eyes continued to search the pathway and to either side, her senses tingling with an eerie feeling of foreboding. The moment of self-imposed tranquility was shattered by a powerful hand clamped over her mouth, and another which pinned her right arm and snaked around her waist, pulling her backwards and into her abductor.
As she attempted to break free, her eyes met with those of a fair-looking man with long, blond hair - a stark contrast to the harshness of his grip.
"Stop ya strugglin', slut, or aye'll brek yer neck." His voice was a sinister rasp, the words a warning that sent a bolt of fear down her spine. She felt the ground leave her as a second, blond-haired brute, darted from the highland's tall grass, a lecherous smile playing on his lips. The men's eyes feasted upon her nakedness, and Cordelia knew, just
knew, she was in the clutches of the very slavers she had just wistfully entertained while swimming - the Day Walkers.
She tried back-kicking the groin of the slaver covering her mouth, but he anticipated the move and shifted as her heel only brushed his trousers. The pair were rough but efficient, and somewhat alarmingly to Cordelia, their touch held an undeniable - excitement (?) which sent her pulse racing. The widow's submissive desires stirred within her, whispering dark secrets of pleasure found in... obedience.
Cordelia knew she was overpowered and stopped struggling. She doubted they would kill her if she did resist, given the gold she'd fetch at auction in the Haltish slave markets. However, she did very much believe they would hurt her (perhaps, even cruelly); there was no appealing to any sense of decency with these two. And truthfully, who would really care if she were gone? Certainly not the poor excuse of man her late husband represented. Even further, theirs was a barren marriage, calling into question her fertility - her reason for existing. No, the world would not mourn a careless and fruitless widow's seemingly inevitable enslavement.
"Look'in the tits on it, John!" cawed the snake from the grass somewhat excitedly. John's hand remained firm over the whore's mouth, his eyes burning with a hunger as he watched her pert tits rise and fall from a quickened breathing. John Merchun was charged with the harvest gathered along the Skrattafell, and with this set of holes, the hunt was off to a promising start! Will Freeman, the snake from the grass, grinned like a wolf, his calloused hands plying the soft skin of her bottom and hips. Cordelia felt the hardness and heat of his arousal pressing against her right thigh, and she bit back a whimper. Despite her remorse at traveling today and fear of having been caught in the open -
quite literally, the widow's body began to respond, her nipples tightening, and a moist heat building between her legs. And she cursed her arousal for the betrayal it was - yet she had been lonely for some time now... very, very lonely.
The one named John spoke in a low tone,
"A'right, tits, we're goin' to put ya on ground and tie ya pretty hands. Don'a make me regrit this." The two men hoisted her to her feet and bound her wrists behind her back, which only thrust her breasts forward and into the glare of the snake before her. Behind her, Cordelia could feel the lead slaver's hardness against her backside, and she shivered anew with a mix of terror and unwanted arousal. The ropes cut into her flesh;
"They were thorough," Cordelia gave them that much. Her eyes searched for a way out, but the highlands were deceptively empty, offering no immediate escape. They began to drag her towards the river.
