Little Red, Taken (Little Red loses her way #1)

1

Little Red, Taken.

Every breath felt ragged, burning as she inhaled the frosty autumn air.

Had she been running for minutes? Or closer to an hour?

Twigs and lichen already caught within her fiery locks, her curly red hair showed signs of her frantic attempt to escape.

Tucking under bushes and sliding under downed tree limbs had torn her clothes as she ran toward the forest.

She didn’t have a choice, however; a quick stop at a gas station in the middle of nowhere had turned ugly.

A bearded man started approaching rapidly with a terrible hunger in his eyes.

In her haste to get away from him, she had dropped her keys.

The look in his eyes told her she didn’t have one second to spare to grab them.

So now, in tight blue jeans that were artfully ripped and restricting her movement, she was running full bore through the woods.

Every moment she thought a breath was something she could spare, the sound of another twig snapping from behind would send her mind reeling.

She had thrown her purse down, hoping he would take her cash and wallet, and yet he still chased after her.

The creeping dread was settling in that this man didn’t want her money or valuables.

She ran until her lungs were on fire. She took a moment to lean against a tree.

Hidden from view, gasping for air while desperately trying to remain quiet, she withdrew her phone from her pocket.

Fingers shaking, hoping to call for help, she silently cursed at the SOS symbol. She didn’t have any service.

A sudden crunch of leaves behind her told her it was time to move.

His hand clutched around the center of her thin tank top as she ran, and it ripped away, exposing perky, pale, pierced tits.

Supple C cups that couldn’t decide if they were teardrops or perfectly round.

Puffy pink nipples, a pale pink nub with a silver bar pierced through either.

The vivid forest green of the ball at the end of either barbell matched her near-emerald eyes.

In an instant, she was back on her feet.

Her phone and her ruined top lay next to the tree she sought shelter against for her quick, misguided reprieve.

The moonlight cast a beautiful light against her bare breasts as she ran, the bushes and branches a reminder of the pain she was attempting to escape as they scraped upon her bare skin.

She wanted to stop. To collapse into the arms of someone who loved her.

She couldn’t stop running; however; any moment’s pause and he could close the distance.

Anxiety was creeping over every fiber of her form.

Sweat was making her skin even colder as she ran as if her very life depended on it.

Judging by the knife in the man’s hand, it just might.

A sudden turn down a hill sent her lurching forward, tumbling down the hill without an ounce of grace.

Rolling end over end. The disorienting sensation of not knowing which way was up hit her instantly.

She felt defeated as she landed, crumpled at the bottom, but the sounds of approaching footsteps reminded her that there was no stopping.

Before she could flee again, his fingers tangled in her curls, yanking her head backward.

The knife he wielded was pressing against her throat as he whispered hoarsely in her ear from behind.

His voice was gravelly, with a southern twang that might have sent her reeling if they had met at a bar.

Louisiana, maybe. But to hear that sexy voice growl, “Scream and I’ll open your throat and fuck you for all you’re worth,” had the overwhelming effect of making her blood turn cold, and her hairless set of petals throb deep within.

The man’s fingers tightened through her mane of red hair; she could feel the anger surge through him as he wrestled her to her knees.

With how firm he held his grasp, there was no chance of escape.

She would have to wait, bide her time until there was a moment to overpower this bearded man.

He was attractive by most accounts. Save for his eyes.

They were a piercing, vivid blue, but there was something hidden behind them.

The savage nature was undeniable. She hated that he had that eye thing, the crinkle at the corner of each eye like a road map.

Smile lines, her auntie always used to call them.

But he wasn’t smiling, and the hate in his eyes made her believe maybe he never had.

Her auntie, a woman whose name didn’t matter in the moment, may have been the kindest soul she’d ever known.

With the dirtiest mouth this side of the Mississippi.

“A well-fed man with calloused hands and short fingernails will work hard, stay loyal, and never leave your cooz dirty after he stirs your soup up.”

Having never had a mother, her auntie was always an inspiration to her.

A driving force that made her want to go to school to be a nurse like her aunt.

It helped push her through day after day working at a textile plant.

Every day measuring and maintaining a steady flow of the same product.

Day in. Day out. Trying to save money, falling for the wrong guy, and ending up back at square one.

Measuring patterns. Extruding frames. Every single day was just a repeated pattern of the whole, and in her heart of hearts, she wanted to experience the fire and passion her aunt spoke of.

The wild experiences that shaped her life through the seventies, into the eighties, and now pushing the new roaring thirties.

“Little Red,” as her aunt had called her, wanted a break between trying to save for college and feeling like life was nothing but a metronome of melancholy.

She wanted to cast magic like the heroine in her fairy tales and video games, while also wanting more than just the same vanilla sex that would make her aunt appalled.

She craved excitement. So, she matched with a guy on Tinder who was elegant, empathetic, and slightly sadistic.

Charming, but also kind of a douchebag. She showered, took care of her functions because the man heavily implied he was an ass man in all ways, and took over an hour to get ready.

Her makeup was immaculate: a smoky eye with thick mascara and a thin line of pale green to accentuate the natural hue of her irises.

Simple base. Light blush. Soft lines to isolate the pout of her already plump lips.

All of this framed by a structured tangle of crimson curls.

Every single tendril of hair was planned and perfect.

Red and ready for whatever this man had in store for her.

If only she’d gotten gas yesterday, or if she didn’t “need” an iced coffee from the gas station. She might have had the most fulfilling sexual experience of her life. Instead, she was running for her life through the woods.

She rapidly thought all of this as he jerked her head back.

She attempted a scream, but her mouth was suddenly filled.

This man, this complete stranger, had half his shaft forced between those full lips.

With her head pinned back, his fingers curled tightly around her throat and through her hair; all she could do was weakly slap at the hand holding her in place.

How demeaning, how vulgar. This slender young woman, forced to her knees, pale tits exposed, struggled not to suffocate as thick strands of spit and pre-cum trailed down her body.

He wasn’t being gentle whatsoever, clamping her throat and forcing her lips apart.

Soon, the air smelled like sex, and thick gagging sounds filled the forest.

Her eyeliner and mascara had made her cheeks a mess, thick streaks of makeup down her face from this man using her throat like a fleshlight.

She could feel the thick, frothy slime of pre-cum and spit leaking from the corners of her mouth; she could feel it sliding down her chin, down her neck.

This sloppy mess made her perky young tits glisten in the moonlight, thick gobs of it dripping off each piercing.

Seconds were turning into minutes, and the sound of her throat being used echoed through the trees.

Her hands lay flat against the rough ground with her head craned back.

She was nearly broken, ready to just give up and give in, when he grunted, about to cum.

This was her chance to catch him off guard.

As he came, she slammed her head back into his sack, and he groaned in pain.

Thick ropes of his cum splashed over her face and bare chest, but she didn’t care; she took off running, looking like someone’s ruined prom date.

With cum clinging from her lips, she continued to run.

As she screamed and gasped for air, a terrifying thought ran through her mind: If he was this rough with her throat, how rough would he be with the rest of her?

She tried not to think about that and focused on running as fast as she could.

She could hear his heavy footsteps quickly approaching, only ten feet or so behind her.

With no better options, she pushed herself to run faster.

She could still taste him on her tongue, still feel the revulsion from her throat being hammered as if she were nothing more than a common whore.

Tears were streaming down her face as her feet carried her as fast as she could run through the woods.

As fast as she ran, nothing could make the “goc goc goc” sound of her nearly suffocating on his fat cock stop playing repeatedly in her ears.

She knew if he caught her again, it was going to be a lot worse.

Thinking about it distracted her and almost made her lose footing, so instead she focused on what she was going to do when she escaped.

She was going to hug her family more; she was going to paint something new, and she was going to give that cute barista who smiled at her a chance.

She was going to live life so much more fully if only she could escape this man’s deviant plans.

She tried to keep her mind focused on escape when she caught sight of a small cabin.

Her brilliant green eyes widened. Salvation could be close at hand.

In an instant, she closed the distance between herself and the cabin.

She pounded on the windows and the door, screaming for help and hoping someone would hear her before he found her. “Fucking bitch!” she heard him yell.

She squeezed through the doggie door, struggling to fit. The moment she made it inside, she darted to the nearest closet. Scurrying inside it, she pulled the door shut as quickly as she could, waiting to hear him force the front door open or shatter a window.