I
The Boy in the Little Red Riding Hood
Once upon a time, there lived a boy what wandered into the Hundred Bator Woods never to be seen again.
A naïve boy of some twenty summers with flaming locks of auburn hair and eyes as green as his innocence. And while none in his village knew the boy’s given name, most had taken to simply calling him “Redd.” Not for the flaming locks what framed his cherubic face with its smattering of freckles, dimpled cheeks, and cute button nose. But because Redd was often seen flouncing about the village in his little red riding cloak.
The cloak . . . and nothing else.
Redd had long since learned the sway his nude body held over the men of his village. His broad shoulders and narrow waist. The smooth chest with its puffy pink boy nipples. The voluptuous swell of ass and thick hips. His father said it was because Redd had so much of his mother in him. Same fair complexion. Same pouty red lips.
But the boy in the red riding hood knew the truth of it. That it wasn’t his figure or his lips what drew the attention of men and women alike, but the eager wet cunt Redd sported between his smooth, creamy thighs.
Everywhere Redd went, men were forced to adjust their thickening cocks while their wives looked upon the redhead with a mix of disdain and distrust. They’d all heard rumors about the boy in the little red riding hood. Stories of a boy touched by the deviant king’s magic. A ginger-haired slut of a boy what took their men under the cover of midnight with his magical boy pussy.
Most of these tales of lust and magic could be traced back to one woman: Midge, the wife of the village’s only blacksmith. A pious woman with a narrow figure and a sharp tongue, Midge was known to most as the village gossip. Whenever she spied the boy in the little red riding hood coming her way, Midge always turned to the closest person what had ears to hear and explained very soberly how Redd was touched by devils, perhaps even by the spirit of Pan himself.
“How else do you explain the hold such a sweet summer child has over more wizened and even battle-hardened men if not for the work of devils,” Midge would say before flashing her sweetest, most motherly smile at the redheaded boy and bidding him a good morrow.
“And to you, m’lady,” Redd would return with his most knightly bow.
What Midge didn’t know and what her husband the smith prayed his prudish wife never found out was that he had been with Redd himself. More than once actually. And that sometimes late at night, after Midge was fast asleep, the blacksmith sometimes took himself in his own calloused fist and pulled himself off to memories of those nights with the redhead and that soft, pliant pussy the boy sported between his legs.
Of course, the boy in the little red riding hood knew none of this. Redd cared little and less about the masturbatory practices of the sexually repressed men of his village. No more than he cared about the idle slander what spilled from the mouths of bored housewives. Before he died, Redd’s father taught him he was no more responsible for the words or actions of other people than he was responsible for the direction of the wind. And if Redd wished to use the cunt the gods saw fit to bestow upon him to shed a little light on these dark times, then who was Midge—or anyone else for that matter—to judge him?
“You have a gift son, one what has kept me bed warm many a time since your mother’s passing,” Father told him one night after he took Redd in the large featherbed they sometimes shared, “And when you have a gift the likes of which you sport ‘tween your thighs, it be a greater sin to keep it all to yourself.”
Redd missed his father something terrible. That big, hairy body on top of him. Those big hands touching Redd’s smooth, flushed skin. The feeling of his fat, hairy cock plunging in and out of Redd’s drooling snatch until they both spiraled uncontrollably over the edge of bliss.
Still, there were times when this endless need between his legs didn’t feel so much like a gift as it felt like a . . . well, like a curse. An addiction of sorts. The way some folks were addicted to food or drink.
Redd wanted cock.
Everything about the male sexual organ turned him on. The smell of it. The taste. That delicious pull deep inside him whenever another man stuffed himself in the void of Redd’s empty, hungry channel.
And when it was all over and Redd was back home in his empty bed with only his fucked-out boy cunt for company, the boy in the little red riding hood sometimes imagined one of those seeds swimming round his insides taking root. Of quickening with child and starting a family of his own. One what wouldn’t leave him the way his mother and father had left him all alone.
One night, after taking more than a dozen or so men outside Bernadine’s Brothel from those too drunk or too broke for a romp inside, Redd returned home to find a stranger waiting for him outside his cottage. At first, Redd thought it might be one of the men from his village. It wouldn’t have been the first time a strange man was waiting for Redd on the front porch just to sample what Redd had to offer.
But this was unlike any man Redd ever saw in his village. Half as tall as Redd was himself and stacked with furry muscle. A wild mane of greasy black curls framed his bearded face, his hungry dark eyes raking the redheaded boy up and down as Redd did his walk of shame up to the door.
A dwarf, Redd realized with growing curiosity, But aren’t dwarves something of a myth? A story people tell boys to warn them away from the woods?
“Uh, hi there, can I, uhm, help you?” Redd offered, clocking the large bulge stuffed in the halfling’s tight leather trousers.
The half-man’s eyes lingered a moment on Redd’s naked mound before pulling something from his pocket and pushing it into Redd’s hand. It was a letter of sorts. One written on the strangest parchment Redd ever saw. Just touching the strange material made his pulse quicken and his cunt clench greedily between his thighs.
“Special deliv’ry from yer gramps,” said the dwarf in a deep, rumbling voice what put Redd in mind of a rockslide.
Redd frowned at the letter, turning it over in his trembling hand. There was a wax seal on the back. One stamped with the visage of a man’s fully erect cock and balls. The universal symbol of male virility. An image what was used by religious sects across the realm.
With a fingernail, Redd broke the seal and felt something like electricity jolt up his spine. Fresh fuck fluids gathered on his outer lips as he started to read.
The dwarf was right; it was a letter from his grandfather. A man Redd never so much as met a day in his life. A man who fled into the woods long before Redd was so much as a twinkle in his father’s eye. Someone the boy in the red riding hood had long since taken for dead.
Redd’s pussy throbbed as he read his grandfather’s uneven script. Drops of fever-sweat and semen stained the page and smeared some of the words. Even so, Redd made out enough to read how Grandfather had taken ill with some sort of virus. One what was burning him up from the inside out with his own insatiable cock lust.
“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All’s I can do is spend me every waking minute lost to me own bate, goonin’ what’s left o’ me life away on me own rigid cock flesh,” Grandfather had scribbled, “But I’m certain a visit from you, child, from me own flesh ‘n blood, is all it’ll take to set an old man right as rain again.”
Redd’s mind reeled as he read and reread Grandfather’s fever-fueled words. What kind of virus made a man lose himself in his own penis and trapped him in a prison of his own bate? It sounded terrifying. Mayhap even deadly.
Though they’d never met, Redd almost felt as if he’d known his grandfather his entire life. His father told him all about Caspian Eagle’s Claw. A man who fought at King Tryston’s side before The Great Fall. Who abandoned hearth and home for the crown before abandoning all three for the woods when the tides of war shifted in the deviant king’s favor. And how there were still some in the realm and even in their own village who called the man “coward” and “traitor” for abandoning his post next to the king.
But to Redd, that “traitor” was still his grandfather. His blood. The only family what Redd had left now Father was gone. And if there was a chance, even a small one, Redd might help deliver the old man from the brink . . . well then, didn’t he at least owe it to himself, to his grandfather, to at least try?
“Thank you, sir, you have given me much and more to think about this night,” Redd told the halfling as he studied a crude map of the woods Grandfather had sketched for him at the bottom of the cum-stained page.
The half-man cleared his throat impatiently. “Ain’t it custom round these parts to tip yer messenger?”
Redd looked up from the letter expecting to see the dwarf’s meaty upturned hand expecting a bit of coin. Instead, Redd was treated to a column of rigid dwarven fuck meat what almost looked out of place between the halfling’s stunted legs. Fat, purple veins bulged the length of his thick shaft. His head angry and red. So bloated it pushed out the tip of his fleshy foreskin.
“C’mon kid, whaddya say?” urged the dwarf, his voice gravelly and thick as he fisted his hairy tool up and down, “Lighten me load fer me ‘fore I head back in them dark, lonely woods all by meself?”
Redd swallowed hard. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pulsing dwarven cock in front of him. The thick wiry bush around it. The heavy set of sweaty balls underneath. He’d never seen anything so big, so . . . so masculine on any of the men in his village.
“I thought . . .” Redd licked his lips, his mouth suddenly parched, “I thought seed what came from the woods was cursed,” he told the dwarven woodsman, “At least, that’s what my father always said.”
“And you believe e’rything yer pap tells ya?” sneered the dwarf, “Tell ya what . . . why don’tcha put yer mouth on it ‘n report back to me,” he barked.
Redd thought about it. He’d been told his whole life to avoid the 100 Bator Woods and everything what came out of it like the plague. The woods were a place of magic. And magic had a way of playing with a boy’s head.
Still, how could Redd tell the dwarf no?
And after coming so far!
The least he could do was to offer the halfling a little release before he made his long trek back to the woods.
Redd carefully tucked his grandfather’s letter away in the inside pocket of his little red riding cloak before sinking to his knees in the grass before the half-man’s drooling cock. The dwarf’s dark eyes followed him. His weeping dickhead was inches from the redhead’s pouty red lips. His breath hot and moist on the dwarf’s exposed sex. He smelled of piss and pine, of sweat and semen.
He smelled of the woods.
The dwarf’s meaty fist fell away when Redd reached out and wrapped his own fingers around the half-man’s pulsing shaft. So thick Redd’s fingers never touched. A drop of silvery fluid formed on the tip, right on his piss slit. Redd’s tongue flicked out to catch it before it could spill to the ground.
Their eyes met and Redd offered his sweetest smile. “Okay, but just the tip.”
“Yar, that be a good lad,” said the dwarf, his eyes bright with his own lustful need, “Take me in yer pretty li’l—wait, what?”
Redd’s mouth closed around him like a trap. Lips stretched thin around the halfling’s fat swollen knob, tongue darting under his slimy foreskin. The dwarf’s eyes bulged wide, muscles spasming as if everything inside him was suddenly electrified. A half-man’s dickhead was the most sensitive part of his dong, everyone knew that. The boy in the little red riding hood either didn’t know or was a very, very stupid boy.
“Aaaaruyahhh! Nhn . . . not . . . like this . . . seven hells, lad, and fates get fucked! Not . . . like . . . thiiiis!” the dwarf yowled, his deep voice pitching girlishly on the night as Redd doubled down on his oral assault, lapping up the musky nectar leaking from the dwarf’s fat knob while his hand worked the halfling’s pulsing shaft up and down, up and down, up and down . . .
Redd’s other hand found his own sex, his slit nice and wet. Hungry as always for a man’s rigid cock. His fingers plunged in and out of his cunt three knuckles deep, thumb working over his boyclit while his moans mingled with the smack of his lips and the wet squelch of his pussy.
The halfling thrashed wildly, every nerve in his body on fire. His cock on the torturous edge of oblivion. His knees trembled. Sweat exploded in filthy fat drops all over his furry body. He felt as if his very soul was being sucked out of him through his fat prick. His fingers fisted in Redd’s fiery red hair, tried to wrench the little succubus off his fat dick.
But it was useless, as if every ounce of his strength had been sucked out of him and swallowed by the boy in the little red riding hood.
“AAAAAARRRRRHHHHHH!!!” the dwarf roared, coming in a rush. His load not so much as pulled from his heavy sack as it was snatched out of his balls by the redhead’s hungry mouth. Rope after rope of thick, gelatinous fuck wad what filled Redd’s mouth and dribbled from the seal of his lips. So much cum his cheeks bulged, his throat working up and down in some vain attempt to swallow every dwarven drop of dick slop.
It was all too much. Too much cock. Too much cum. Redd planted his hands against the dwarf’s powerful thighs to pull away but the halfling was having none of this. His fingers were a vice clamping down hard on the back of Redd’s head, forcing the redhead to stay where he was.
“Ahh no ya don’t kid,” the half-man grunted through his orgasm, “Yer the one what wanted to play this stupid game. Yer . . . nnngh . . . yer sure as the hot hells gonna take ever drop I give ya down yer stupid whore’s gullet!”
Glub . . . Gak . . . Kof . . . Glug . . . Gag . . . Kof . . . Glurp . . .
It seemed as if the torrent of cum might never end. That the load what had been brewing in the dwarf’s hairy ball sack might go on and on forever and ever. Redd’s jaw ached terribly. His lungs burned for another breath. Just one more. Then he could finish swallowing everything the dwarf had to give him.
At last, the halfling’s cock pulsed a final rope of seed across Redd’s wet tongue. The redhead swallowed it down best he could before the dwarf pushed him away. Redd fell back on his bare bottom, puffing like a bellow and sputtering sperm in fat goopy wads onto the ground. The half-man’s eyes narrowed on the ginger-haired boy sucking in air at his big feet.
“Ya play dangerous games, boy,” the half-man growled, glowering down at the redhead over his softening cock, “A dwarf’s dong be his pride ‘n joy. I could’a crushed yer skull ‘n never gave it a second thought.”
“But . . .” Redd wiped a mix of cum and spittle from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, “But you said just the tip.”
The dwarf blinked down at him as if he couldn’t decide if the boy in the little red riding hood was serious or just having a laugh at his expense. The latter was another one of those dangerous games the halfling had warned against, which only made the jape—if it was in fact a jape—even more ludicrous. So much so the half-man threw his head back and thundered laughter what echoed on the quiet of the night.
“Just the tip, HAR! Thar’s a good one lad. Gonna hafta remember that one fer me brothers o’ the woods, I am, HAR!” the dwarf boomed. He wiped away tears, “Ain’t many what can make a dwarf bust a gut like that, ‘n so soon after bustin’ a fat nut,” he added.
“I’m, uh, just glad I could help,” Redd said, albeit self-consciously. He felt suddenly exposed, his cunt terribly empty.
“Tell ya what, kid,” said the dwarf when he finally collected himself, “Since ya gave me such a belly laugh the likes o’ which I can’t remember, I’m gonna give ya a piece o’ free advice. Somethin’ what I wish me own pap had tolt me ‘fore I went traipsin’ off into the woods:
“Best to just steer clear o’ them trees,” he offered, “Don’t even think on ‘em if ya can help it. Them woods be no place fer pert young boys like you. Not with thar sweet li’l cunny drippin’ ‘tween yer legs. Not with the big bad wolf a stalkin’ round like the king o’ the jungle.”
Redd sat taller. “B-Big bad wolf?”
“Aye,” the halfling nodded, stuffing his heavy cock back in his trousers, “A man turned by the magic o’ the woods. Some say he’s more animal than man. A trickster what stalks the woods at night lookin’ fer fresh meat to devour. They say he likes to play with his food,” he smirked, “That he likes pale, freckled redheads most of all.”
Redd’s cunt pulsed excitedly between his legs. A manimal, he thought excitedly. Something else Redd thought was a thing of fairytales, of legend. Stories meant to keep boys like him away from the woods.
“Course, there just ain’t no reasonin’ with some boys,” the dwarf went on, “Not when it comes to them woods. Go, don’t go.” He shrugged, “Really ain’t no sweat off me sack. Hells, look me up if you do go. Mayhap I’ll give thar sweet cunny o’ yers a try next time. Ain’t never had me no cunt boy before.”
“Why wait?” Redd asked, and turned around to present the halfling with his creamy round ass and drooling mound. The cool night air licked at the smoldering hot slick coating Redd’s smooth thighs and cunt. For a moment, he didn’t think the dwarf would follow through. That he’d already drained the dwarf dry with his mouth.
Then he felt something fat and fleshy against his puffy slit, teasing his entrance. Redd bit his lower lip. He’d never taken anything so big in his life.
“Mayhap I got another load in me after all,” rumbled the dwarf.
“Be gentle,” Redd coached.
The half-man threw his head back and barked another laugh.
“What?” said Redd.
“Just the tip, HAR!” laughed the dwarf, and he slammed the whole of his cock in Redd’s fucked-out boy cunt in a single thrust.
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