"Ladle Rat Rotten Hut"
by
It is still October 31. The sun had set, leaving a raspberry
glow on the horizon, and the big, yellow, full moon was
visible though the trees to the east. The smells of autumn
were in the air, though it was still pleasantly warm. I had
found a good place of concealment, far from lights and
surveillance cameras but still near a path, a short cut, often
traveled by students. There were three good escape routes,
just in case. I quivered in anticipation; I could smell one
coming. My sensitive ears tracked every footfall. She was
wearing tennis shoes.
I leapt from the bushes and crouched in front of her. She
was about five-four, wearing a red cape and hood, and
carrying a basket. She stopped, surprised, and tried, in the
dim light, to identify me. "You're Little Red Riding
Hood," I said, growling and baring my canines.
"Oh," she exclaimed, with a giggle, "You must be the big
bad wolf."
"Yes," I said, trying to sound menacing, "and I'm going to
eat you."
"Really?" she said, grinning. "Could I buy you off with a
cookie, instead? Chocolate chip. I'm taking them to my
house mother for our Halloween party. That's a great
costume you have. Would you like to come?"
I considered the prospect, decided it would be too
dangerous. "No. I said I want to eat you."
"I'm kind of busy now, and I don't even know your name.
I think I'd better decline your offer, thank you. Would you
let me pass, please?"
"No!" I grabbed her and carried her under one arm. It was
easy, with it being that time of the month, and her only a
hundred and ten pounds or so. She screamed, but I knew
no one could hear. In seconds, I had her in my little hide-
away, and I popped a red rubber ball gag in her mouth and
cinched the strap tight around her wavy red hair. I plopped
her onto a blanket I had spread on the grass. "You know
that resistance is futile. If you cooperate, perhaps I won't
eat all of you." I took her cookie basket and stood,
towering over her. "Take off that ridiculous cape."
Awkwardly, she regained her feet and shrugged off the red
cape. She was wearing a sorority sweatshirt and a pleated
kilt. "Strip," I commanded. She hesitated, so I grabbed the
neck of her sweatshirt with both hands and tore it down the
front, a feat of strength I'd bet no boy friend of hers could
do. But, of course, the moon was full. "Go on." She
pulled the sleeves of the ruined sweatshirt off over her
hands and stood there, in her bra and kilt. "Go on." She
hesitated. I reached for her kilt, and she pleaded with her
eyes, making mewling noises through her ball gag. "You
have something to say?" She nodded. I warned her to be
quiet and removed the gag.
"Please, don't ruin my clothes. The kilt cost me 75
dollars."
"Then take it off." She undid the clasp at the waistband
and stepped out of it. Now, but for the tennis shoes, she
wore only a bra and bikini-style panties. I glowered and
growled. She reached behind and released the hooks at the
back of her bra, but she was awkward, scared, I guess, so I
ripped her bra off, too. Her breasts were girlish, about a
cupful each, like halves of oranges on her chest, or water
balloons, with pink nipples that protruded. Her breasts
were stark white, compared to her pink, freckled skin, that
typical redhead complexion. She had a barbell piercing in
her navel. Her panties were a dark color, hard to define in
the gloom. I swiftly dropped her on her back on the
blanket and took my place between her knees.
"Please. Please don't hurt me," she said, in a soft, sweet
voice. I growled and seized the elastic of her panties in my
teeth. The first yank gave her a mighty wedgie, but I
quickly gnawed through waist and crotch and spat the
scraps of pink cotton into the bushes, noting the same
paleness as her breasts. She sunbathed, but not nude. Her
pubic hair was sparse red curls; she was a true redhead.
Her labia were full, with a slit between them and a little
dimple at the top. My tongue darted against her cleft,
easily parting the lips and exploring within. I can easily lap
water from a stream or dog dish, when it's that time. I
lapped at her inner labia, slipped inside her as far as her
cervix, and lapped the swelling of her clitoris, up at the
front of her cleft. I could smell her arousal and taste the
nectar of her vulva. Again, I pushed my tongue into her
now unresisting vagina, until my canines were buried in her
soft flesh. She gave a little cry, and I backed off, licking
her wet membranes as she writhed beneath me. At one
point, she reached down and grabbed my wolfish ears,
perhaps thinking they would come off. I let her guide me,
as she moaned and whispered, "Oh. Oh, my god! Oh, oh,
oh, that's... Oh, OHHH! Oh, oh," and she giggled.
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When she let go, I licked my way up her belly to her
breasts and wrapped my tongue around each one in turn.
My snout is such that I couldn't suck, but I gently chewed
and slurped as she made contented noises. Then it was
back to the honey pot. My tongue lashed her clit and labia
until she came, time after time, moaning, screaming, crying
to God, giggling afterward. The smell of sex was
overpowering.
I rolled her on her tummy and lifted her hips. My penis
was red, pointed, and nearly a foot long. "I've never done
it doggy-style," she said, lightly, as I plunged into her. I
could not, of course, put the whole length into her without
fatal injury, but I'm sure she was fucked as never before,
and when, after I had ejaculated half a pint of watery
semen, and the root of my tool swelled like a baseball, I
kept pressed into her and fucked and fucked and fucked,
maybe twenty minutes, as my knot distended her vagina
and pounded her clitoris. She groaned and moaned and
struggled for some time. When I pulled out of her, she
collapsed, flat on the blanket, still dribbling from her
ravaged cunt, too exhausted to do anything for a while.
Then she said, "Wolf, are you done, or are you still going
to eat me."
"Again?"
"Sure."
I lapped up my seminal fluids and ran the tip of my long
tongue around her cervix, deep in the fundus of her sex,
removing the sperm which might otherwise swim into her
womb. I don't know if I can impregnate a mortal woman,
nor can I imagine what our offspring might look like, but
by the time I was done, and she was wasted by more
orgasms than her fingers could give her in a year, she
pleaded with me to stop.
She sat up, there in the moonlight, the moon high by now,
and covered her breasts and crotch with her hands. "You
raped me."
"So, what are you going to do? Report me to Animal
Control?"
"Will you let me go now?"
"If you like."
"I'd better go. They'll wonder why I'm late. The cookies,
you know."
"Well, go." I handed her the kilt, which she put on. I
couldn't resist lifting the hem of her kilt for one last lick.
She stood there, legs spread, encouraging me, until her
knees gave out and she was down again. Slowly, she stood
and drew her cape around her, forgetting the ruined bra and
sweatshirt entirely. "What are you going to do when you
get to the house?"
"I'll keep my Red Riding Hood cape tight around me, and
I'll hand over the cookies. They need not know that I am
naked underneath. It feels funny, the cool air on my wet
vulva. Do you mind if I tell my room mate why I'm late?"
"Is your room mate as sexy as you are?"
"Yes, if you like zoftig brunettes."
So, here I am, waiting in my hiding place again. The full
moon shines down, giving me unending strength. My
sensitive ears hear the footfalls of dancing slippers, the
jingle of ear rings, and my nose detects the odor of
receptive pussy.
- The End -
[Note: this story is protected by international copyright law,
all rights not expressly waived are reserved by its author.]
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