Stolen Hood

by The Grim Sisters

  For the whole party, I stayed in the little secret garden until I heard my brother calling for me. My stepmother didn’t talk to me the whole way home furious I didn’t do what she asked, and that I gotten my dress dirty. She sent me to bed without dinner, and was cold to me until the following afternoon when a bouquet of those same flowers from the secret garden was delivered to me in a beautiful crystal vase.

  After that, she practically acted like my best friend when she was told I was named as Richard York’s favorite and his father requested we set up playdates so we could get to know each other better. I was young and didn’t fully understand that when Richard chose me, we were betrothed that very day. I was expected to marry him as soon as I graduate from college. Both our families, even my father, signed a contract agreeing to do so. I’ve hated Richard ever since and avoided him every chance I got. He, out of all people, knew how much I hated being forced into anything. I know now I’ve been unfair to him. He had as much choice as I, but now it’s my choice to claim him as mine.

  The door opening breaks me from my thoughts and Senator Reynolds steps through with a wicked smile on his handsome face. Despite being crazy, not a hair on his head is out of place, and his clothes are perfectly tailored to his trim body, wrinkle free. Despite hearing faint noises of others, he’s the only one who visits me in this hellhole.

  “How are you feeling this morning, poppet?” He asks, giving me a charming smile.

  I narrow my eyes. How does he expect me to answer his question? I know better than to give him a smart remark, scared he’ll try to wash my mouth out with soap again.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he says suddenly. He’s practically jumping up and down in his polished loafers like a kid on Christmas day.

  “What kind of surprise?” I ask warily.

  Walking back over to the door, he opens it and picks up a black sack he left there and carries his spoils to the plastic bed.

  “Tsk, tsk, poppet. You really need to learn to make your bed when you get up in the morning,” he chastises, wagging a finger in my direction. “And look at your dress. It’s all torn and dirty. You should take better care of your things.”

  WTF? Doesn't he remember ripping it last night? Does he think I enjoy walking around with my tits out? I should have already expected it as soon as I saw his eyes darken as his anger takes over his features. His hand shoots out and grabs me by the throat, squeezing hard until I can’t breathe.

  “Naughty, naughty, poppet. After all I’ve done for you, you can’t even keep yourself clean. You’re a dirty slut,” he roars, squeezing tighter until I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  I promise you this man is going to a very, very special place in hell. I have the money to custom build that shit.

  Suddenly, he releases me, and I flop onto the floor as he stomps into the bathroom and runs the water. When he comes out, he gathers me in his arms like he’s cradling a beloved bride, giving me fucking whiplash with his emotions.

  “Dirty boys pay the price,” he murmurs in his trance like voice. Peering past his shoulder, I stare in horror at the bath. The bathroom is already filled with steam coming off the flowing water, and I try to struggle out his arms when I realize he intends to put me in a bath full of boiling hot water.

  “Baby,” I cry desperately. This sick shit worked yesterday, it should work right now too.

  His big blue eyes turn to me, and he looks at me adoringly and whispers, “mommy.”

  “Sweetie, the water is too hot to put mommy in. Why don’t you be a good little boy and cool it down first?”

  His eyes turn from me to the water, and he gently put me down and runs the cold water, cooling it. I take a relieved breath as he guides me into the water and my skin doesn’t burn off. I’m sure second degree burns hurt like a bitch. I can handle a lot, but burning my fucking skin off? No, thank you. He washes me gently and lovingly. Each touch is tender, far different from his usual treatment. When he moves his hand in between my legs, I’m prepared to put on another performance, but this time he doesn’t dally there, which immediately puts me on edge from the change in the program.

  “It’s your favorite day of the week mommy. Are you ready for your treat?” He asks, gently moving the wash cloth across my back. Treat, what fucking treat? Who knows what his bat shit perverted mother considered as a good time.

  “No baby. Why don’t we finish my bath?” I try, and he narrows his eyes.

  “Mommy never misses her treats,” he growls as he stands.

  Horrified, I watch him undo his pants and his flaccid turtleneck dick is uncovered. His mother put him through hell, but she couldn’t find the time to get him circumcised? Gripping his cock, he strokes himself slowly up and down, waking his cock up as he moves closer to my face. Oh fuck, oh fuck, I start breathing hard. I’m starting to get the picture of what his mom’s favorite treat is.

  “I made sure to eat lots of pineapples last night so it nice and sweet, just the way you like it,” he says, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. There’s something so… just so wrong about this entire situation. I don’t have the accurate words to describe how fucking horrified I am. How did this happen to someone? How did a human break this far?

  No way in hell am I’m letting him put that thing in my mouth. Reading the look in my eyes, he seems to snap out of his trance and angry Reynolds takes over. How many personalities does this dude have? Stomping out the room, he returns with a ball gag with a cock size hole through the ball, and buckles it firmly to my face. I try struggling, but I don’t get anywhere. The serial killer is out in the open and he doesn’t care about inflicting pain. His massive hands easily place me exactly where he fucking wants me.

  “That’s better,” he mumbles, checking out his handiwork. Also, in his hand is a small portable cassette radio. I didn’t even know those still existed. Pressing play, the creepiest rendition I have ever heard of Where is Thumbkin starts to play. Who in the hell would play that to their kid? This fucking psychos mom, that’s who.

  Placing his palm back around his cock, he works himself in front of me with more enthusiasm as his other hand digs into my shoulder, gripping my flesh painfully. When he’s hard and ready, he sings, “open wide, here comes the airplane,” before thrusting himself in my mouth. In time to the music, he fucks my mouth deeply with his groans of pleasure filling the room.

  I wasn’t positive I’ve ever be able to give a blow job again. Maybe that’s a lie, because I’m sorry but do we remember my boys’ dicks? I mean no doubt, this is going to fuck me up for a bit, but I planned on washing my soul of this fucking incident with their dicks. My preferred dicks, thank you very fucking much. Not this gross sock like thing in my mouth. Piss off Lambchop.

  “I’m hard just the way you like it mommy. I’ve been such a good boy,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper, and I choke more the farther he pushes himself down my throat. I’m convinced he’s trying to kill me. Is this how I die? With a dick down my throat? Honestly, I really thought I would have a more epic death, but he seems like he wants it now. Fuck the rest of his sick ritual, he’s ready to take me out now. I remember his threat from earlier and when he’s nice and deep, he holds himself there as I struggle to breath.

  “Do you like it mommy? Isn’t this just the way you taught me to please you? Am I still your big boy?” He chants.

  I can’t speak, I can’t breath. I’m going to die in this fucked up plastic treehouse with his cock stuffed down my throat. Finally, he pulls out, and I get half a second of glorious air before he’s stuffing himself back inside. Tears are streaming down my face, and the long cooled down water chills my body. Using both his hands to hold me still and anchor himself, he fucks my throat with a wild, crazed abandonment until finally he starts to swell and spills his seed deep down my throat. He’s too sweet and disgusting, and I want nothing more but to hurl his cum back up.

  “Tasty isn’t it? Just the way you like it,” he says with approval.

  Tidying his clothes, h
e pulls me out the bath and wraps me in the towel, leading me back to the secret room, where he takes his time to brush my hair and does my makeup, humming that creepy song. When he feels like I’m just right, he leaves and comes back with the black bag he carried in. My throat feels raw and my jaw is starting to ache from being pried open from the ball gag.

  After he takes the gag off, he reaches inside what I bet is a bag full of horrors and pulls out one of those old school Playboy bunny uniforms. This one a dusty pink with a corset back. You know, every time I think that this is going to get better, or stay the same, it gets so much fucking worst.

  “Do you like your present? I thought of your dusty rose nipples when I bought it.”

  I don’t answer. It’s not like he expected one anyways, nor does he wait before forcing me in the garment like a child. It fits me snugly, pushing my cleavage up to his searing view. On the backside is a gaping hole where you can see my ass. Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a medium size cotton ball tail attached to a huge buttplug. Oh hell to the fuck no. I’m moving and trying to get away, but he has me by my hair, and my movement snaps him into action. With a firm grip, he puts me over his knee, and without priming me first, he works the plug in my ass, widening and bruising my tight hole as he goes.

  “That’s a good pet. My little bunny. Oh but wait. You need one more thing,” he coos as he smoothes my hair down with his palm, petting me like I’m his fucking pet for real. “Here you go,” he says, placing a set of white fluffy bunny ears on top of my head. “When I was younger I had a pretty white rabbit for a pet. Did you know that? Her name was Juliette, and she was my only friend growing up. My mom wouldn’t let me play with the other kids. She said they were evil and would taint me, so she bought me Juliette. She use to hop around and follow me wherever I would go in the house,” he says, rising to his feet. “Now, come on Juliette. Come to daddy,” he coos.

  What the what??? Does he think I’m going to hop after him. I get my answer when he kicks me in the ribs and snarls, “come on Juliette, I won’t tell you again.” Swallowing my pride and biting back the pain, I hop after him with my tears streaming down my face. Tears of pain. Tears of frustration. Not of humiliation though. Fuck that. I have nothing to be embarrassed about. This man is pushing me to new limits, awful limits, but this is all him. I have nothing to feel ashamed of.

  He keeps me in that outfit all day. After awhile, I start to realize how large the butt plug is the longer it’s wedged in my ass. My ribs ache, and I fear they’re bruised, if not broken. The worst part of my day is the fashion shoot he put me through, snapping pictures of me in the demeaning outfit. A bunny costume is just as bad as a maid outfit. More than once I wondered if I’m going to die. Will the guys find those pictures and know what happened to me? Will they miss me, or cry when they realize I’m dead? I’m starting to break, just the way he wanted. He takes five days to kill his victims, because that’s how long it takes for them to wish for death. Beg for it. I wonder, are the boys even close? Do they have any idea where I am? Because I don’t fucking know.

  When the sun starts to set, I brace myself for what’s to come next. He’s already left me my dinner, some stew like concoction. I didn’t touch a single drop, especially after he told me his mother punished him by taking away his beloved pet and feeding him rabbit stew for dinner. He’ll be back to beat me, I’m sure of it, and mark me with another letter. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s spelling. ‘Whore’.

  As soon darkness takes over, he throws my door open and pulls me to the ground. He’s escalated his assault, and instead of just beating me, he pulls his pants off, freeing his hard cock. Straddling me, he pins me down as he rips the corset completely open until I’m naked under him, and lowers his mouth to my bare breast, sucking on and biting my nipple. His hard cock just barely nudges my entrance and he rocks his body over mine. When he bites down like he’s trying to tear my flesh, I cry out in misery and he cums, shooting his load all over my stomach. Dipping his finger in his cum, he plays with it before putting his finger in my mouth and orders me to suck. I do as he asks, too tired to fight, and his eyes dilate before he bends down and kisses me deeply.

  “Mommy has been bad,” he whispers, staring at my pale bruised flesh. “Mommy said I was her only big boy, but she brought them home. She brought other big boys home.”

  Taking out his marker, he draws the letter ‘O’ on my stomach before putting his pants on and leaving me alone on the floor covered in his cum. Everything seems to hit me all at once, and instead of slow trekking tears, a pained cry leaves from my throat. Sobbing on the floor, I clutch at the chain and ring around my neck and hold it tightly in my hands. As if the token gives me strength, I’m able to pull myself together.

  You have bad days, and then there is this shit. Remind me to call my therapist.

  Chapter Twenty

  Richard

  I really thought money could do everything.

  Apparently, it can’t get us across the country without being fucking delayed. Believe me, I’ve tried everything. I even called in every national and international favor I can think of. If my family paid me any attention, they’d think I’ve lost it. Yet, here we are somewhere between fucking Germany and Brazil, our mid stop delayed because… well, no one can seem to fucking answer that question for me.

  I can practically feel the cold rage that seems to always rest under my skin turning red hot. I want my Red back in my arms. In my space. In my fucking care. Now. I can feel the violence under my skin and I promised myself that whatever Reynolds has done to her, I’ll return the favor ten fold. I have absolutely zero issues with murder. Then again, this is coming from me. Me, who has been obsessed with one singular woman since the age of ten. Me, who has absolutely zero boundaries when it comes to her. So yeah. As I said. No issue at all. In fact, I may even find pleasure in it. Scratch that, I know I will.

  “The hospital just said he’s stable,” Archie mutters. I really wish I cared more about her brother, but he’s safe in urgent care, and she’s not. My Robyn is being held by a psychopath. Yes, I completely understand the irony of that statement considering I have possibly lost it.

  “You’re freaking out the flight staff,” Archie comments to John. The guy is temperamental on his best day, and I’m sort of wishing he’ll lose it. A fight sounded great right now.

  Huh. I bet when we have kids with Robyn, it will be easy to tell whose is whose based on their personalities. Then again, that really is the entire nature vs. nurture argument. And yes, I smile as I adjust my cufflinks, I wholly intend to get her pregnant. And no. I don’t feel bad about the archaic thought. I don’t really feel bad about anything, or feel at all unless it regards her.

  She’ll be less likely to leave if she has a happy family. Not that I’ll let her, but I want to see more of the things she does. Cute things, like the little nose twitch when she laughs or the way the gold in her irises glow when she smiles. So I will make her happy because I’m a bit selfish.

  I tried to keep my distance throughout high school, not wanting to overwhelm the woman that captured every fucking thought of mine. I have plans to get things ready for when she marries me, and despite her hatred of said betrothal, she never understood it was not of my choosing, but my duty. The only thing I got to choose was the girl. My father wanted me to marry someone. You better fucking believe it was going to be her. No one else will do. Trust me, whenever I fucked anyone else, I just imagined her. I know she thinks of it as her parents controlling her life, but it wasn’t. It was me. A very careful plan, and she can fight and scream about it all she wants. It doesn’t matter to me because she’s stuck with me whether she wants it or not.

  I’m not positive, but I don’t think she’s noticed the place I’ve had her name tattooed on my neck, right below my collar. It isn’t super noticeable, but it's right on my artery because if I ever lost her, you should just stab me right there. I smile thinking about right before I got it done.

  “You are
completely out of fucking line,” she hissed, her red hair cascading around her shoulders. God she was so fucking hot when she was mad.

  “Why would I let my betrothed go out with a limp dick like Alex?” I grinned as she crossed her freckled pale arms across her little white polo.

  “I’m not your fucking betrothed Richard,” she growled, “I didn’t agree to that.”

  A dangerous hum comes from my throat as I stepped closer, caging her in the stairwell we were in. I spoke softly and clearly so she would understand me. “I’m not going over this with you again. You don’t have to like me. But you’re mine, and you aren’t going out with fucking Alex.”

  Her lips peeled back in a snarl as she shoved at my chest. I grinned and took my excuse to grab her tiny wrists and pulled them above her head. A flush took over her face as I wedged my leg between her short skirt and soft legs. I could see her nipples hardening and I wanted nothing more than to peel these fucking clothes off her, and pound into that seventeen year old body. I’d learned a few fucking things that would have her screaming the school’s ears off.

  “Don’t hit me Red,” I murmured close to her lips, “you won’t like it when I hit back. I’ve been wanting to turn that ass cherry red for years now.”

  “I hate you,” she sneered. Her fingers had slipped onto my throat and her nails were digging in.

  She might have but her body didn’t. I tried to not let her words affect me as I released her and stepped back, trying to remind myself that now was not the time to fuck her into the wall. I wanted my hands wrapped around that delicate throat, being in charge of whether or not she got her next breath of life.

  “Go on Red,” I goaded when the bell rang. “Don’t want to be late.”

  Her brightly painted fingernail did a middle finger salute as she left. I lifted my hand to where that same nail had cut my skin. I licked the blood off my finger and walked in the direction of the parking lot. I needed something to remember her mark on me and, unfortunately, skin healed.