Riding Little Red’s Hood by Alex S. Johnson

“Oh dear,” said Little Red Riding Hood. “I seem to be lost in the woods again, where they say ravenous wolves wait to prey on helpless–and well-endowed–maids. I must be careful to guard against attack!”

The Wolf stuck his snout through the branches and whistled. “Hey, Red, talking to yourself again?”

“Who said that? And why are you wearing Grandmother’s bonnet?”

The Wolf emerged from the trees. “Maybe I’m a bit of a cross-dresser. Sometimes the urge comes on me, at night, to don old lady clothes. I’ve been this way since I can remember. Don’t judge.”

“I’m hardly one to judge,” said Little Red, simpering. “As long as you have no plans to ravish me and compromise my virtue!”

“Compromise your virtue? Please.” The Wolf snorted and lit a cigarette.

“You insult me, Mr. Wolf. I have a good mind to take this matter up with the Mayor. Or the pigs.”

“The Mayor and the pigs? Are you serious? When was the last time the Mayor did shit around here? All he’s interested in is his stipend and the kickbacks from the cobbler, the tailor, the chickens, the cows, the pigs…yeah, that’s a big mess right there. Some kind of real estate investment gone south. They’ll take you for everything you’re worth. Better stick with me. The devil you know, right?”

“You are presumptuous, Mr. Wolf. You claim a familiarity with me that is neither proper nor charitable. I’m a good girl, I am.”

“You were singing a different tune the last time I abducted you. Something like, ‘Oh, Mr. Wolf, please don’t stop, you’re so…cruel and animalistic.'”

“Yeah well. I’ve changed.”

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“Like hell you’ve changed. I bet if you and I took a tumble in the hay right now, you’d be begging for my furry shaft!”

Little Red placed her hands over her ears and began to sing: “Tra la la la la, happy thoughts, happy thoughts, I can’t hear you.”

The Wolf placed his paws over her firm yet supple ass and gripped.

“Ooh…that feels so good. You’re so commanding. Please, Mr. Wolf, I’m sorry I denied you. Let’s see if Grandma’s home, and if she’s not, we can use her cottage. Or this glade.”

“I think we can use Grandma’s. She’s gone for the day, visiting Goldilocks.”

“I hate that girl. What does everybody see in her? I’m just as hot, nubile, frisky…”

“No idea.”

“Well anyhow, yeah, let’s go to Grandma’s.”

After an hour of groping, fondling, thrusting, moaning, gasping and squealing, they paused and shared a smoke. Then they went back at it, the Wolf pounding Red’s ass like a battering ram.

“What have we here?” said the Woodsman, who was chopping fuel and ventured near the cottage on his way back home.

“Get out of here, ya peepin’ Tom!” yelled the Wolf. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

The Woodsman doffed his trousers and stuck his cock through the window. The Wolf’s thrusts propelled her mouth forward and it slipped between her lips.

“Ok, you can join us, damn you. But that’s the limit. And no pigs!”

Just then, the three pigs trotted up, planted themselves on a log outside the window and began to snark among themselves.

“Hey, pigs, this is a private party!” yelled the Woodsman. “Damn straight!” shouted the Wolf. “Grmblll” managed Little Red.

“Oh please,” said Little Pig #1. “As though we were interested in joining your sordid couplings. We’re just here to observe and comment.”

“I mean honestly,” said Little Pig #2. “That Woodsman needs a good ass-shaving. It’s like a carpet back there!”

“Right?” said Little Pig #3.

“I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down again, little pigs. That’ll be the third time this week. But later. After I’ve had my nut. All this cocaine, it’s hard to blow my wad, you know?”

“Typical,” said  LP#1. “They’re on drugs. All of them.”

“I’m clean, man,” said the Woodsman. “Narc-Anon.”

“Grmmmbllll” said Little Red.

“Well that one’s got a wide vocabulary,” sniffed Little Pig #2. “She’d be a mute if it wasn’t for those noises she makes deep-throating.”

“Little pigs, little pigs, you got anything better to do than sit around and critique?” shouted the Wolf. “Don’t you have some dirty deals to make with the Mayor? Something about real estate in Oz?”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about,” said LP #1. “And I resent the implication. Truly I do.”

“We have no connection with any such foolishness,” said LP #2.

“Perhaps because of some stereotype you’re mistaking us for dirty animals. We’re clean, I tell you. Clean.” LP #3 began to cry.

“There, there,” said the Woodsman. “I can’t stand it when beasts weep. It makes me lose my wood.”

“Grrrmppllllp” sputtered Little Red. “Good riddance,” said the Wolf. “Why don’t you go console your porcine pals and let me and Red here finish up?”

The Woodsman and the Three Little Pigs returned to the forest, leaving Red and the Wolf alone.

“Finally, some peace and quiet!” said the Wolf.

“Shut up and fuck me,” said Little Red.

“Wow, you’re really turning into a nympho,” said the Wolf. “You used to be so demure, so classy. Now it’s all ‘Bang me, Wolf,’ ‘Rip my panties off…and fill me with your hot jets!’ What about my feelings? Don’t they count?”

“Don’t be a simp, Wolfie. I thought we had an understanding. If you turn soft like the Woodsman and those fucking pigs, I’m going to have to find another stud to satisfy me.”

“Not a chance,” said the Wolf, sinking himself to the hilt in Red. “Not a bloody chance.”


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