Twigs snap under my feet as I run for my life through the dark forest, with only a bit of pale moonlight to guide me. A low hanging branch violently rips through my simple cotton dress, causing me to stumble and fall in a heap. Scrambling behind a large tree trunk, I try to slow my breath, my chest heaving, straining for more of the cool night air.
Heavy footsteps echo among the silent trees. My heartbeat thunders loudly in my ears as I squeeze my eyes shut, absolutely terrified.
Never had I imagined that I would be plucked from my safe little village and taken to some god forsaken land to be sold for a man's pleasure. Even in the depths of the wilderness of England, I had heard of rumors of a nasty ring of criminals who were making a pretty penny kidnapping single, vulnerable women and selling them off. I knew I was the perfect match for what they were looking for, but I foolishly believed I was safe. What an idiot.
Unmarried, orphaned as an adolescent, nineteen years old, lives alone, and attractive? Why, I couldn't have been a better target than if I had tied myself up and offered to hop into their wagon.
I felt the rancid, hot breath on my face first before a rough hand gripped my arm and yanked me up violently.
"Well, well, aren't ye a feisty little one, eh? Can't have ye runnin' off before ye meet yer new master, can we?" panted one of the kidnappers. This one I nicknamed Rancid, after his horrible smelling breath.
I glared back at him, saying nothing, but imagining how much I would have liked to kick his face in, if he wasn't twisting my arm painfully behind my back. His fellow criminals shouted at him to bring me back to the wagon. I let myself be dragged back, before eventually, I lost hope for escape and reluctantly crawled back inside the creaking, tight little wooden cage they locked me up in.
The rocking of the wagon lulled me into a restless sleep. As the days passed, I grew more and more hopeless, and just prayed that whatever monster they sold me too was going to be merciful.
One night, we stopped to camp deep in the wild forests of who knows where. My kidnappers were getting drunk around the fire, clearly pleased that I was cooperating thus far into the journey. Soon one of them decided to be daring, and at the encouragement of his partners, he grabbed me by my tied wrists and dragged me behind a large boulder.
It was Rancid.
"My sweet little cargo, ye wouldn't deny this ol' man his pleasures would ya?" he disgustingly crooned at me. I didn't bother to honor his words with any sort of reply.
Suddenly, he grabbed my thick brown hair and sniffed it deeply, enjoying the scent of a woman. I could barely keep from throwing up at the mere fact that he was so close to me. Faster than I had ever seen him move, Rancid smothered his mouth on top of mine, clearly hungry for some female flesh. His fat body pinned me against the rock and I was unable to move a muscle.
Tears streamed down my face as his disgusting fingers groped my ample breasts through my dress, and he started to moan with desire. By the time he started unbuttoning his trousers, I was openly sobbing. I finally let myself cry. After being kidnapped, failing to escape, and enduring a hopeless journey with an even more hopeless outcome, I was filled with despair at my fate in life.
Rancid pulled out his fat, dirty member with his grubby little fingers and thrust it between my breasts, pumping it up and down. Defeated, I let him continue to rub himself all over my chest, my soft breasts cushioning his every move.
Tired of pleasuring himself with my breasts, Rancid decided to seek after more. Realizing that he was still unsatisfied, I closed my eyes, resigning myself to the inevitable as he lifted up my skirts, and began sticking his fingers into me.
My juices involuntarily started flowing from the stimulation, and Rancid started chuckling.
"Seems like ye couldn't resist a man's touch eh? What a little slut--"
Rancid fell dead on his side, an arrow sticking out of his back before he could finish his sentence.
Traumatized at seeing a man killed right before my eyes, I shakily pulled down my skirt and scrambled away from the boulder, running back to the campsite.
I was greeted with a bloody sight.
All of my kidnappers looked like rag dolls, their bodies strewn about the forest with arrows sticking out of their lifeless bodies. Blood was splattered on the trees, and gathered in small puddles on the forest floor.
My heart raced as sweat dripped down the side of my face. Could I dare hope that I'd been rescued from my fate as a slave?
A tall, broad shouldered figure emerged from the shadows, bow and arrow in hand.
"Miss, are you alright?" He gently questioned, approaching me slowly, and cautiously, as you would a frightened deer.
Completely overwhelmed, I looked into the warm brown eyes of my savior and fainted clean away.
I awoke in a warm bed nestled among the softest furs my skin has ever touched. Suddenly, all of my memories from the past several days came flashing back. I whimpered out loud, filled with pent-up emotion that I was unable to express in front of my captors.
My rescuer must have heard me wake, for he quickly came into what must have been his bedroom.
"Miss, you're finally awake? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you feel unwell?" he asked me, clearly concerned over this mess of a girl he just saved from a life of slavery.
Uncontrollable tears streamed down my face as I shook my head. The man awkwardly stood in front of me, shifting his weight from side to side as I tried to calm my sobs.
"Thank you, I'm quite alright, I'm just quite shaken up from this whole ordeal." I explain to him.
"Well, I would imagine so! My name is Richard Lawson, and I'm a hunter around these parts."
"Miss Annabelle Jones, pleased to meet you." I extended a hand to him, not forgetting my manners even in this most peculiar of circumstances.
He also recognized the hilarity of the situation and laughed heartily at my attempt of normalcy as he shook my hand. I cracked the first smile I have had in a week, and took a good long look at my rescuer.
Mr. Lawson was clearly built like a hunter. A broad strong chest, thick muscular arms, and a chiseled, lightly bearded jaw, he was the optimum example of a man in his prime. Probably nearing thirty years of age, it was curious to see that he had no ring on his finger.
Mr. Lawson kindly let me stay in his house for a few days. In the meantime, I was able to get cleaned up, rest, and share my side of the story. It was the talk of the village! Mr. Lawson, the fearless hunter, rescuing a helpless young girl from violent criminals with just bow and arrows!
But I couldn't stay in his house forever; it was indecent and imposing on his hospitality. I was a practical girl, used to being on my own and pulling my own weight, so I soon found work as a live-in nanny and extra farmhand for one of the farm families.
