**Tread carefully, dear reader. Thar be forced sex ahead.**
He watched her from the shadows cast by the large oak trees. Her hair beneath her hood was auburn and long, cascading down milk-white shoulders. Her lips were full and pink. Her cheekbones were fine and sculpted, painted by a natural blush. And her eyes were large, framed by long lashes as fine as lace; they were all green, save for the golden ring around her iris: pussycat eyes. Beneath her long blood-red cloak she wore nothing but a white shift, non-existent at the arms and shoulders, and kept tight around her waist by a length of cord; her feet were bare as she walked through the lush, green grass, and she carried a picnic basket. The wolf licked his lips.
She was bent over at the waist, examining some berries on a bush when he approached her.
“What are you doing out here, little girl?” he asked.
The wolf’s gruff voice surprised her and she spun around so fast her skirt ripped in the brambles and she dropped her basket. She let out a little gasp of surprise upon seeing him. He was long of limb and toned, and nothing at all like a wolf, as you might expect. His hair was blonde and shaggy, and he was naked from the waist up. It was his eyes that touched a place of fear within her; they were dark blue and held a promise there that she didn’t quite comprehend.
He smirked and picked up her basket lazily, drawing out his motions. She reached for it and he held it back, just enough so that she had to step into him to take it again.
“I’m going to grandmother’s house, if-if you must know,” she stuttered.
Mother had known to warn of dangers in the woods, and though the wolf seemed friendly enough, she knew it was better not to stay too long.
“Would you care for some company, my dear? The woods are full of hungry animals and it will be dusk soon. I can keep you safe from harm and show you a shortcut,” he grinned at her and took her tiny hand in his large one, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.
She looked to the fast sinking sun and murmured, “No, mister wolf, thank you kindly, but I must keep going, I’m nearly there anyway.”
She glanced at him, snatched her hand away, and was gone, running down the trail. He could not stop his eyes from roving over her as she ran away. He could not stop the unchained hunger that had grown within him as he watched her inner struggle. He could barely contain the urge to steal after her and carry her away into the woods with him now, but he was patient.
Little Red knocked on the door to her grandmother’s cottage. It was just dusk, and she could hear the animals start to stir in the woods. On all sides she felt surrounded; naturally afraid of the dark, it was only worse in the woods.
“Grandmother!” she called and pounded at the door. It gave beneath her pounding, as if the latch had been half undone. “Grandmother?” she whispered, as she stepped inside.
The cottage was dark, save for a light coming from under the old woman’s bedroom door. It flickered and danced, beckoning to her.
“Grandmother?” Her voice was high and anxious.
“Come in, my dearie,” a voice called from within the room.
Little Red paused in her steps and looked around the cottage. The voice had sounded like her grandmother, but different, deeper. She knew her grandmother was sick, and the cottage was normal and tidy, even in the darkness, nothing seemed amiss. She inhaled deeply and opened the door to the old woman’s bedroom.
“Grandmother!” the girl exclaimed.
On the bed was a large lump of blankets, and from within them, she could just barely make out a set of eyes hidden behind glasses, the very bridge of a nose, and nothing more. The room was stifling, a fire was in the grate and the windows were closed tightly.
“Don’t mind the heat, my little morsel, granny’s very cold from the sickness,” she said. Each word was drawn out, slow, deliberate, and heavy. This didn’t sound like her grandmother at all.
Little Red ran to the woman’s side and pressed her face down into the blankets, “Oh, grandmother,” she said, “is the sickness very bad? You don’t sound at all like yourself!”
She felt her grandmother heave a heavy sigh and she clamored off of her.
“It makes it hard to breathe, my dear, and it makes me very drowsy,” she wheezed. “I’m very tired now, my dear, why don’t you lay in bed with granny and have a rest?”
“I brought you food, grandmother. I came to nurse you back to health.”
“In the morning, my little darling, we’ve both had a very long day… rest now.”
Her grandmother’s voice was commanding and gruff, and she knew better than to protest. The heat in the room was making her drowsy in any case, and she knew her grandmother’s bed was comfortable and inviting. She moved to the other side, and meant to lay down when a large hand was placed over the bed, from under the blankets, stopping her. Little Red studied the hand for a moment, not recognizing it as the small and withered and soft hands of her grandmother.
“These poor hands have swollen in size with the sickness, granddaughter,” came the gruff explanation. “You’ll sweat to death in this warm room if you sleep in your dress. Take it off, lay under your hood if you need keep your modesty. I swaddled and changed you as a babe, and you need not be embarrassed. “
Too tired to wonder at the command, Little Red untied the cord from her waist and shimmied out from her rough, cotton dress. She was naked beneath it, and as she lay on the soft down of the bed, she adjusted her cloak and fell into the nothingness of sleep.
A strange feeling awoke Little Red. The room was dark, the fire having been put out, and there was just a sliver of moonlight slipping into the room, still not enough to see by. A dark moan slid from her lips, unbidden by her, as she felt something thick slide in between the folds of her cunny. She blinked back her tiredness, trying to focus, when she felt large, rough hands against her breasts, groping them, caressing them.
“Gr-grandmother,” she whimpered, “What large hands you have…”
“All the better to grope and tease you with, my dear,” murmured the rough voice.
Little Red struggled, and she felt one of the large hands catch and wrap around her tiny wrists, immobilizing her. In the same moment, she felt the heavy sensation in her cunny again, something large and thick forcing its way into her tight hole and out again, drawing a deep wetness from her body, over and over.
She shook her head against the sensations and panted, “oh, grandmother, what a large pr-prick you have.”
She heard a manly chuckle and a murmur, “Min lilla fitta.” He groaned, “all the better to fuck you with.”
He punctuated his words with sharp pounding of his hips against hers, forcing her legs wide apart as he did so. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she writhed beneath him; it only caused more foreign sensations in her slick cunny, and another moan was forced from her lips. All at once, she felt his teeth bury themselves into her throat; he bit her, hard, and suckled at the wound, until it drew a cry from deep within her.
She choked and gasped on her words, “Grandmother… what sharp teeth you have!”
The shock of blonde hair was clear to her now, and as he lifted the head, she saw the face of the Wolf in clear view. His eyes were dark and predatory, hungry, full of desire. He whispered, “all the better to devour you with…” and began to thrust into her with abandon.
His hand held a tight grip on her wrist and she whimpered and moaned and danced beneath him uncontrollably. There was a hot, building feeling in her pelvis, deep within her woman place, a sensation not like any other she’d ever known. She felt like she was reaching for something, some apex of pleasure and something, but she could not name it. He caressed her with his bruising hands, and his searching mouth, forcing her lips to part with the sheer force of his own. He fell inside of her, filling her with his cock and his tongue, forcing all of his hunger and need and frustration upon her, and she blossomed beneath it with tears flooding her cheeks.
When he was at last at his limit, the Wolf spilled his seed deep within her, until now, unexplored depths. He came with a rabid cry on his lips, and continued to pump and thrust his hips as he emptied himself into her womb. The moment Little Red felt the curious sensation of being filled by the Wolf, the bright and shining feeling that lay behind her eyes and in the very deepest part of her exploded, and she screamed, and fought the Wolf’s strong body with her own lithe one. The heat that coursed through her skin and down into her marrow was indescribable, it was overwhelming, and proved too much for Little Red. With a final stifled groan, she fell into a deep unconsciousness, while the Wolf ravaged her still.
The sound of the morning birds awoke Little Red, and blinked rapidly; the sun was streaming in through the windows of her own room in her mother’s house. As she came to, she realized that she was naked, upon her bed, save for her red cloak that lay beneath her. She moved slowly, feeling a warm ache start to spread throughout her body. She winced at the pain as she tried to slide her legs from the bed. The apex of her thighs was wet, slick, and pulsing. She gave a little whimper and rolled onto her side to help ease onto the ground. Her cheeks were scarlet from shame… the dream that she’d had.
She moved to her dressing chest to find some clothing, and caught sight of herself in the small mirror. Beneath her auburn locks, her neck was covered in angry, red bruises. She leaned in closer, lips parted, a hand touching the abused flesh. She could just make out the set of teeth marks, over and over again, in her skin.