Nikka’s mind was nearly blank from the agony which her body was in. Exhausted and pushed well beyond her limits, all she could do is lie sprawled facedown on the ground, with her hips up and legs apart, waiting for whenever the next beast might want to take a turn riding her. ‘Beasts,’ she struggled to remind her, ‘not men. Men couldn’t – wouldn’t – do the things these damnations have did to me.’

Each day, it was getting harder and harder to focus her thoughts. The pain was overwhelming everything else in existence for Nikka. When she first awoke, her embarrassment and fear were the strongest things in her heart, but embarrassment dies quickly when pain begins, and even fear can lose its grip once true torment begins.

Unable to walk anymore – one of the first things the beasts had did was slice the tendons in her calves so they’d no longer support her own weight – Nikka had quickly learned to crawl and beg once they stopped traveling in the late afternoons and evenings. When the beasts stopped riding, one of the first things they did was simply toss her facedown off whoever’s horse she was trapped riding with.

Once on the ground, Nikka was expected to lift her ass and crawl on all fours to the first beast. Taking too long to assume the proper position – ass up and head down – resulted in one of the beasts kicking her. If her head was held too high, they laughed and kicked her face, telling her to remember her place. If her ass was too low, Nikka was kicked in the crotch as the beasts snarled and reminded her not to keep the goodies where they couldn’t be reached. Waiting too long to move and offer herself up to the first beast of the evening resulted in a swift kick to the side which bruised her ribs and made each breath wheeze and burn in her lungs.

And once she’d dragged her battered and beaten body to the nearest beast, Nikka was to lie back, rest her arms behind her head, sprawl her legs open, with her knees bent, and offer herself as the creatures plaything. If she was lucky, the beast would simply ravish her body and roughly indulge itself in her flesh. If she wasn’t, it’d snarl and kick her in the crotch, while demanding she move on and get the hell out of its way. Either way, once the first beast was finished with her, Nikka was supposed to crawl on and repeat the process for the next beast.

Beast after beast after beast, that was Nikka’s sole existence now, intermingled with booted kicks which simply increased her never ending pain. Crawl too slow, get kicked for making a beast wait. Crawl too fast, get kicked for trying to escape. Head too high, get kicked. Ass too low, get kicked. Visit the same beast more than once, without visiting all the others first? Get kicked.

Kicked and rode. Rode and kicked. That was Nikka’s sole existence in the evenings now.

When exhaustion and pain got too great for her to force herself to move and offer herself to the beasts anymore, Nikka was finally given a brief reprieve as they forced open her jaws, shoving a funneled tube of some sort deep down her throat, and then had some thick viscid liquid poured into her stomach. Not even getting the slightest taste of the substance -- after all, the beasts thought it was fitting that all she could taste was them – nevertheless, whatever it was provided enough nutrients to keep Nikka from the comforting embrace of death.

The bastard beasts were making certain she wouldn’t starve or dehydrate to death!

And, after her oh so brief meal, Nikka was forced to resume her existence once again, until the sky got completely dark and every beast had taken several turns with her that evening. Then, when utter exhaustion and agony had filled every core of her being, Nikka was left sprawled and spent, in front of the campfire, like some sort of prized trophy which the beasts wanted to make certain was visible for the world to see and admire, as testament to their greatness.

And the nights – the blessed nights – were the only real period of rest which Nikka got. As a child, she’d feared the silence of the nights and whatever monsters might be lurking in it, just out of sight. Now, she was grateful for it, and the short periods of interrupted peace that her tormented body got to enjoy, between brief interludes when the beasts lifted and tossed her around roughly as their plaything for several minutes, when they changed watches for the night. And oh too quickly, the tremulous peace of the night was shattered as the sun rose over the horizon and the new day started.

Beasts too busy to watch over her as they broke camp and prepared breakfast, Nikka was turned into nothing more than an artwork – a homage to the depravity and ingenuity of whichever beast, or group of beasts, that wanted to display their masculinity with her battered flesh. Some just tied her wrists together, pulled her up until she dangled several feet off the ground, and then left her there hanging until it was time to move down the road again. A few others didn’t think that was secure enough, so they hosted and dangled her several feet above the campfire, where the smoke tortured her already labored breathing and sparks and ash sizzled potmarks into her feet and legs.

And a few others – like the Blade beast or the Cutter beast, which had been the first to take her on the first day – they merrily laughed and took time to truly create a masterwork with her. Forcing her legs out to the side until they popped and dislocated from the hips, they stretched and tied her ankles between two trees. Lifting Nikka’s limp body, they strung her arms out wide to the left and right, tugging and pulling until the muscles in her shoulders ripped and screamed out in torment. And then, with her tight as a hammock stretched between the trees, they sat their packs across her chest and torso, making her support their added weight until they finally cut her down once all else was finished around them.

And then, it was time for the tube to be forced back down her throat and whatever mystery gook they used to be dumped down into her stomach, and time to ride with Blade-beast after that. Every day, every morning, she was always hosted up in front of Blade-beast and positioned with her crotch astride the pommel of the saddle where it’d laugh and try to force her down as fully as it possibly could upon the saddle horn. Breasts and chest under the constant rough assault of Blade-beasts hands as they rode, and hips and groin savaged by the constant bouncing and rocking upon the pommel and saddle horn, Nikka’s days were a blur of torment.

Which, in the end, ended simply to repeat the process over and over again, each grueling day one endless nightmare blurring endless exhaustion and torment into ever deepening shades of whelps and bruises across Nikka’s tired flesh, as her mind slipped deeper and deeper into mindless exhaustion.