Page 3 of Little Puppet

Trauma has a way of comforting us. And mine? Mine wraps a thick blanket over me and protects me whenever needed, even if its fibers are prickly.

I pull her car to a stop next to a hollowed-out shell of a Toyota Camry I’ve burnt to nothing but a frame.

Ashley Wilson, I think that was her name. The car was a Godawful color of yellow that no one should ever drive around in. If you ask me, I did the world a service getting her off the road.

Donning my gloves again, I remove the car from the cables, using the electric winch to draw them back.

Her sobs continue, reminding me she’s still alive. Even though I might have to tend to some of her injuries before I play, I’m thrilled to have found a girl so quickly.

After all, it’s only midnight on day one of my hunt.

Usually, it takes longer than this to drum up some fun.

Christmas came early this year.

Tossing my gloves into the truck, I turn off the engine.

My boots sound on the cold ground as I approach the driver-side window and drop onto a knee.

Leaning over, I come face to face with my lovely new toy.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she begs, her soft voice full of rasp and promise— a promise to be my good little girl if I’ll only set her free.

It’s something I can work with.

Yes, she’ll do just fine.

“Let’s get you out of there,” I say, my deep voice sounding muffled behind my mask.

Pulling my blade out, I work it through her seatbelt that’s keeping her dangling upside down.

“There we are, puppet,” I coo, hefting her out of the window.

I slowly stand her on her feet, holding onto her to keep her steady.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” I ask her.

She seems to assess inwardly, moving this joint or that before she shakes her head. “N—No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. That means you’ll be able to run.” Glee leaks into my voice as I step back from her.

“Wait, W—What?”

She’s perfect. Her breasts are large and spill out of her V-cut T-shirt. Her stomach is far from flat, showing a healthy appetite. All I can think about are my teeth sinking into its lush skin. Her curves are winding, unlike the road outside of Grimrose House. She’s short, far smaller than my six-foot frame.

“If you’re unharmed,” I start, reminding myself why I’m here, “you’ll be able to run.”

She looks at the tow truck and then back at her upturned car, likely putting pieces together in her adrenaline-riddled brain.

“You ran me off the road,” she accuses, and I grin, even though she can’t see it.

“Did I?” I toy with her.

“Why would you do this? Just let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone.”

I lick my lips, stepping closer. As I loom over her, her vanilla, candied scent wafts up my nose and thickens my cock with blood. “Puppet, I told you to fucking run. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Her swallow is audible as she sidesteps me and dashes off to my right, headed right toward the road.

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