Little Red Riding Hood grew up kinky. Who wouldn’t, after those early childhood experiences with a wolf? Especially the part where he devoured her.
One foggy night Red went to a party, dressed in her favorite crimson dress. The men gathered around her, but her attention fixed on one: The guy with the glint in his eyes that told her he was a hunter. She wasn’t at the party for more than a drink or two before they left together, his hand on her arm.
He walked her to his car, but she pulled him across the street into the park. It was dark among the trees. Glimmers of street lamp stood in for the moon. He growled into her ear and Red arched her back against a tree. “Eat me,” she urged, and he knelt down between her legs, ravenous.
The smell of Red overwhelmed him. He dove into her and licked and sucked as he never had before. He bit her gently, then harder, as her cries of pleasure swirled around him. Time seemed to stand still. He felt as if he’d never be done with her until he’d consumed her. The taste of blood filled his mouth. And then - someone was pulling on him, hard, from behind.
He tried to resist. He braced his feet in the grass and searched for a grip on her thighs. But something strange was going on. He couldn’t fold his arms around her. There was a terrible pain at the base of his spine. Someone was pulling his - Tail?
With a howl, he let go of Red. Helpless with confusion, he loped away.
Red smiled at the man now standing in front of her. He was tall and rugged and his belt was already undone. “There you are,” she breathed. “Hard and ready as ever. Fuck me, my woodman.” And he did.
Read interstitially at BedPost Confessions, November, 2010