#289) Another Fable Retold

We all know the tale of Little Red Riding Hood, on her way to Grandma’s house, waylaid by the wolf. Here is the truth. She knew what was going on. Indeed, she waylaid the wolf. She had it all planned out. What we don’t know was whether the wolf was under the spell of a witch, so at times was animal and at times was animal in human form. Or whether he was a werewolf under the spell of the lunar cycle, no one is sure.
We don’t even have to get into the contents of her picnic basket (which was purposefully filled with aromatic, mouthwatering meats). (No, I’m sorry, I can’t let it go! These foods were supposedly to share with an old lady with poor digestion and dentures?)
Look at the way she’s dressed. She knew what she was doing! She was a country girl with a whole wardrobe of cloaks. She had to wear the scarlet red one? With matching lipstick? Finally, the truth is told about what she wore beneath… What male, wolf or human, could leave that alone? She set him up.
He could smell her from a mile away. Not the meats, not her perfume, her. The wolf/man cornered her against a mighty oak tree, pressed her up against it, threw her cloak back and licked her buttocks. He didn’t have an appetite for her lingerie, just her bare flesh, just where she was roundest.
“My, what a wet, long tongue you have…! she breathed.
He sniffed her neck and behind one ear. She swooned, threw her head back, did not resist in any way.
“My, what a powerful nose you have, and such a long snout!”
At no time did he lead her on with riddles. “The better to…” and all that nonsense. She widened her stance, opened herself to him. Standing on his hind legs, he leaned into her, pressed himself against her. She felt his arousal.
“My!” was all she said, all she needed to say.
He consumed her. From behind. It was instinctual. Almost savagely. But it wasn’t as though he wasn’t led astray. Nine months later, she birthed a hirsute baby, a male. This was at Grandma’s house in the woods, away from the village. Grandma turned a blind eye toward their involvement, none of the villagers knew. But she helped raise the boy/cub. Because she could see that the match was good for the young woman. The Hooded One, as Grandma called her, was no longer tricky to the point of sinister, plotting or conniving. She seemed at peace, content, fulfilled even, as long as her wolf/man paid her frequent visits, licked her with cunnilingus for foreplay, and nailed her to a nearby oak tree for a fuck.

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