An Illustrated Story: Abused War Captive

[cisco47]

[cisco47]

Story to be continued ...

[cisco47]

Eventually, the last soldier wielding the whip paused, panting slightly. He ran a thumb over the leather, slick with her blood. "Enough," he grunted, not from mercy, but from the growing pressure in his trousers. When the whipping finally ceased, Camryn hung limp in the chains, trembling uncontrollably. Her entire back and legs were a canvas of raw, throbbing pain. Sweat, tears, and blood mingled on her skin. The gleam in her tormentors' eyes shifted. They looked at her exposed, trembling body, marked with fresh stripes, not as a target for pain, but for something else.

[cisco47]

One gestured impatiently. Rough hands fumbled with the chain lock. The manacles fell away with a heavy clank, and she crumpled to the dirt, her legs useless. Hands grabbed her arms again, hauling her upright, dragging her stumbling towards the nearest hut – Moana’s own family hut. They shoved her inside. The scent of dried herbs and old memories was choked by the soldiers' sweat and aggression.

[cisco47]

They didn't bother beating her further; she was already subservient and shaking with anxiety. Instead, they focused on restraint. One held her from behind, while another pulled her arms above her. Coarse shackles bit into her wrists, binding them tightly. Another set of shackles were clamped around her ankles, anchoring her helpless. She thrashed weakly, her raw shoulders screaming. "Please," she gasped, her voice shredded. "Don't... please!" The soldier holding her laughed, a harsh bark. "Virgin?" he guessed crudely, seeing the primal terror in her wide, tear-filled eyes. The confirmation seemed to excite them more. Camryn squeezed her eyes shut, trembling violently. This wasn't just violation; it was the theft of something she’d imagined tenderly, privately. The fear was a physical thing, cold and sharp inside her chest, worse than the whip's burn.

[cisco47]

to be continued...