The war chief let out a wordless bellow of crazed lust and rage with every terrible pump of his hips between the sobbing girl's thighs.
"Look at me!" He roared.
Her head turned away, her eyes remaining tightly closed against the sobs that wracked her body so sweetly as he used her. His hand rose to her right breast, still nested in the soft doeskin of her jerkin, and squeezed the bouncing orb. Probing fingers found her nipple, squeezed, pinched, pulled, twisted.
"I said look at me, wench!"
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