The Baker’s Basket
That night, Redd dreamt he was lost and alone in the woods.
Someone or some . . . thing was after him, chasing him through the trees. His little red riding cloak whipped behind him as he ran. Twigs snapped under his bare feet. Skeletal branched slapped at his naked arms and legs.
Suddenly, a figure lurched out of the trees directly in front of him. Redd skidded to a stop, back pedaling at the immense man-thing rose up in front of him. All big glowing eyes and sharp, slavering teeth. The cock jutting between its furry thighs was monstrous and dripped with raw, bestial need.
Redd turned to run but the man-thing grabbed him from behind, claws digging into his smooth, pale flesh as Redd was pushed to his face in the cold hard dirt. He felt his hips jerked into the air, his knees kicked wide apart. Cold air licked at his exposed, vulnerable cleft. Quickly replaced by the heat of the monster’s breath on Redd’s sex. The long, torturous swipe of the beast’s tongue.
Redd shuddered, his cunt squeezing tight even as the monster lined the immense head of his penis with Redd’s smoldering slit. “It . . . it’ll never fit,” the boy in the red riding hood complained, “You’re . . . you’re too big!”
Redd felt the weight of the thing atop him, all heat and need and muscle. His words were a low, dangerous growl in his chest when he said, “The better to fuck you with, my boy,” and Redd felt himself filled to the brim, wholly and all at once, the big bad wolf’s hips lurching forward, slamming into the boy in the little red riding hood at a brutal pace while Redd came his brains out around the beast’s monstrous dong.
***
He was still coming when he woke up. His knees pushed together, hands slipping between his smooth thighs to cup his spasming sex. Even after the rough, brutal pounding the dwarven woodsman gave him last night, Redd’s pussy was still desperate for it. Needy as fuck even as his own sex juices drenched the sheets underneath his writhing, naked body.
Afterwards, while he basked in the afterglow of his own spontaneous orgasm, Redd made his decision: He would go into the woods, find his estranged grandfather, and nurse the old man back to health . . . that is, if Grandfather wasn’t already too far gone in his bate.
Either way, Redd would need to be careful. His entire life he’d heard about the dangers of the woods. How boys what went into the woods were rarely, if ever seen again. And those what did come back were never the same. Their minds and bodies forever altered by the magic of the Hundred Bator Woods.
Still, the thought of going into those woods by himself both excited and thrilled Redd. He’d never so much as been outside his village before, let alone to the woods. His young mind raced around what he might find there. His father always said the woods were a place where nightmares and fairytales collide, and Redd’s pussy clenched at the possibilities.
And so, Redd dawned his little red riding hood and stepped out into the brisk morning air, eager to be on his way.
His first stop on the way was The Baker’s Basket—a small bakery in the village proper what had always been a favorite of Redd’s father. Some of Redd’s fondest memories where when his father would bring him something sweet and tasty home from the bakery. And how, whenever Redd was feeling a little down or under the weather, something from The Baker’s Basket always made him feel—to borrow a phrase from Grandfather—right as rain again.
Mayhap the baker will have something what will lift Grandfather’s spirits too, reasoned the boy in the little red riding hood as he skipped down the street.
A small bell jangled over the door when Redd entered the modest little bakery. The air smelled divine! Like freshly baked breads and cookies and cakes and pies . . . their aromas all conspiring to make Redd’s mouth water. The grumbling in his belly reminded him how he’d skipped breakfast that morning, and Redd’s green eyes danced from one delicious-looking display to the next wondering where he should begin.
Everything looked so delicious!
The baker popped out of the back in a flour dusted apron carrying a tray of fresh-baked sticky buns. A stocky, thick-necked man with ruddy cheeks under a pair of thick muttonchops, he set to arranging the gooey treats on a big platter without so much as looking up.
“Top o’ the morrow to ya friend, and a hearty welcome to The Baker’s Basket,” the baker boomed jovially, “Name’s Eli, if ya please, and just so happens you be me first customer o’ the morn—”
The man’s joviality clipped short when his eyes shot up and clocked the naked redhead standing on the other side of the counter.
The boy in the little red riding hood.
In my store!
Eli’s usual good-natured smile wilted off his face even as his cock twitched to life in his trousers. It was something the baker hadn’t felt in years. His own manhood engorging with blood. Growing thick and rigid with it. That staticky tingle in his balls as they bloated fat and full of years’ worth of unspent male seed.
“And, er . . . what can I do ya for this mornin’ lad?” Eli asked, his voice deeper and considerably thicker than it had been a moment before.
Redd flushed hot all over at the way the baker’s eyes roamed freely over his naked body. The way Eli’s hungry gaze homed in on the puffy boy mound between his legs. Redd was used to men looking at him like this. Like a snack what needed to be devoured. And it always made his pussy clench with boyish need.
“Uhm, hi Mr. Eli, uh, sir,” Redd stammered nervously, “I’m, uhm, off to see my grandfather, see. He’s taken to his bed with some sort of, uh, virus, I think, and, well, I remember how something tasty from your bakery always seemed to make me feel better when I was little and, well, I thought a crust of your finest bread might go a long way in making Grandfather feel better too. And mayhap some of that honied jam to smear on top? Oooh! And a few of those delicious-looking apple dumplings!”
His belly gave a sudden embarrassing rumble and Redd blushed red as his hair, something his father said always brought out the freckles on his cheeks and cute little nose. He offered the baker an awkward little smile.
“Sorry, guess I’m a little hungry.”
“Mhm,” Eli grunted, doing his best to ignore the throbbing manhood stuffed in his trousers. So hard the baker thought he might flood his pants with the sticky pre-fuck steady drooling from his fat dickhead.
“And, errr . . . how you plan on payin’ for all these tasty treats for your dear ol’ grampy?” he asked of the boy.
Redd reached for the little velvet coin purse he usually carried with him before remembering he left it at home. In his rush to set off for the woods, Red had completely forgotten to grab his coin off the nightstand next to his bed. A thousand miles away, Redd thought miserably, And after I’ve already come so far, how could I possibly go back now? Not if I want to be at Grandfather’s house before the sun goes down.
Nightfall, Redd always heard, was when the real magic of the woods came out to play.
“Oh, uhm, I—sniff—I must’ve forgotten my coin—sniff—back at home,” Redd said, turning for the door before the baker could see the tears brimming in his green eyes, “S-sorry to have—sniff—w-wasted y-your t-time . . .”
The little bell jangled again, masking Redd’s sob, and the boy in the little red riding hood was halfway out the door when the baker’s deep, husky voice made him stop and turn around.
“Oy there, lad, just hold up a minute, no need to rush off just yet,” said Eli, unable to ignore his aching manhood any longer, “Mayhap we can work something out, you ‘n me. Mayhap you can get that scrap o’ bread for your grampy in, er . . . other ways,” he offered, reaching under his apron to adjust his aching cock. Had he ever been so hard in his life even before the curse what dried him up? Eli couldn’t remember.
Redd blinked as the man’s proposition sank in. A hunger what had nothing at all to do with food bloomed in his belly. He could feel his own slick gathering on his outer lips, gathering between his folds.
“Well, what’ll it be lad?” Eli pressed impatiently.
“Huh? Oh, uhm, y-yes, yes please, I’d like that very much,” Redd said, too fast, and the baker frowned distastefully at the eagerness in the redhead’s voice, “I mean I’ll, uhm, pay whatever you’d like,” Redd tried again.
Eli eyed Redd a moment. Like all the men in their village the baker had heard tale of the boy in the little red riding hood, the boy with the magic cunt. But seeing him in the flesh was something else altogether. That the boy might possess magic—real magic—was something Eli hadn’t expected.
“Fates be kind,” the baker muttered, shaking his head as he went to the door to lock up. He turned the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED and looked out at the dark, empty streets. Thankfully, it was still blessedly early. Most people with the sense left in their brains to know better were still at home, asleep in their beds. Fates be kind. his Cyrilla was one of them.
Yes, it was better this way.
No witnesses to his shame, to his sin.
“There, that oughtta buy us a few minutes in back,” he told the redhead, and started for the kitchen, pulling the apron off and tossing it over the counter as he went. That was when Redd clocked the strong dick print straining the front of his trousers, the large wet spot spreading across his crotch where the head of his dick pushed against the fabric.
Eli followed the boy’s curious young eyes and grunted his disapproval. “Well, ya comin’ or not, lad? Ain’t like I got all the time in the world to be standin’ round messin’ with the likes o’ you, ya know,” he complained, “Not when the payin’ folk be comin’ round soon enough.”
His sharp tone jerked Redd out of his head. “Huh? Oh, uh, right, I’m right behind you Mr. Eli, sir.”
He followed on the man’s heels like a lost pup, led as much by the prospect of earning a few tasty treats for his grandfather as by the idea of getting stuffed like one of the baker’s delicious cream pies.
The air in the kitchen was a furnace blast of heat. A smoldering sauna what soon made Redd’s skin flush and slick with sweat. A few roaring ovens were at work baking various breads, pies, and cakes. A long table set up beside an open window displayed a proverbial smorgasbord of tasty treats, all cooling in the brisk morning air. Another table, this one dusted with flour and bearing a large wad of sticky dough what was still proofing in the kitchen’s immense heat, was set up in the center of the room.
“You look like you’re busy back here,” Redd said, looking around.
“And you look like you need this ‘bout as much as I do,” rasped the baker over the roar of the ovens.
Redd followed the baker’s leering gaze down to the glistening folds of his pussy. A droplet of fresh boy slick trickled down his smooth inner thigh. Redd offered the man a shy smile, shifting anxiously on his bare feet.
“Always need it, sir,” he offered meekly.
“Heh, so I’ve heard,” Eli snorted.
He tugged his shirt up over his head to reveal big shoulders, a meaty chest, and round belly all covered in a carpet of thick brown fur. A strange phallic-shaped pendant hung by a leather cord between the baker’s hairy moobs. It looked carved from some sort of ancient-looking wood. The visage of a man’s fully erect cock and balls. It reminded Redd of the image stamped in the wax seal on Grandfather’s letter. The one still tucked away in the pocket of his little red riding cloak.
“Your necklace,” Redd said, “What does it mean?”
Eli frowned down at the talisman; he’d completely forgotten he was wearing the damn thing. “This?” he said, fisting the intricately carved piece of wood in one meaty hand. He felt the raised veins of the shaft. The large bulbous head of the mystic cock.
“This here’s called a cock-crux,” he told Redd, “A gift from the Brotherhood meant to help a man, err . . . tend his wife’s garden, if ya get me drift,” Eli said, though he could tell by the blank expression on Redd’s face the boy had no idea what he was driving at.
“This here’s s’posed to help a man fuck a baby up in the belly o’ his lady,” the baker tried again, albeit more crassly than before, “S’posed to help a man’s balls make enough fuck wad in ‘em to do the seedin’ o’ life. Me own nads been dry for ages.”
Redd’s eyes flashed wide. “You mean you haven’t . . .” he gasped, unable to finish. Unable to even fathom the idea of going a full day without getting off let alone years.
“Longer ‘n you’ve been alive, lad,” Eli grumbled, “T’was a witch what did it to me, too, what cursed me hearth ‘n home,” he added, “Came to see me shortly after Cyrilla ‘n me opened this place up. Said somethin’ ‘bout me old man. How he’s with some huntin’ party in the woods ‘n how they’d, errr . . . ‘raped his garden,’ or some such. Said they took his seed. That since me da ‘n his mates took his seed, he’s gonna return the favor ‘n rob me o’ mine, too. Ain’t busted a proper nut since.”
“His seed,” Redd repeated raptly, “This witch . . . it was a man?”
The baker nodded solemnly, his throbbing cock temporarily forgotten. “Handsome fella, too,” he admitted, “Least, he would’ve been if he ain’t have all them piercings ‘n tattoos ‘n the like. The man looked like a demon is what he looked like. Brown skin. Silky hair what moved like the shadows. ‘N eyes what had this look to ‘em. Like they’s laughin’ at somethin’, some joke what no one else is in on.”
Eli’s fingers tightened around the shaft of the cock-crux at the memory of the witch of the woods, and he would have sworn he felt the damn thing pulse in his fist like a living thing.
Magic come to life, thought the baker with growing unease.
He raised the cock-crux in his hand to show the boy and half-expected the boy in the red riding hood to recoil away from the thing as if in pain. “The temple priests, the Brotherhood,” he said, “They gave me this in hopes o’ breakin’ this blasted curse one day, ‘n to ward off any more trouble what might think to visit me doorstep.”
“And has it worked?” Redd asked, sincerely curious despite never being a believer himself.
The baker’s eyes were twin daggers. “You’re here, ain’tcha?”
Redd flinched as if he’d been slapped, and Eli immediately regretted his tone. After all, it wasn’t the boy he hated. It was magic. Even if that same magic had broken his curse, it was still magic. And magic was dangerous. Magic turned men into monsters and worse. Magic belonged in the woods. Or up the king’s dirty arse from where it came, thought the baker bitterly.
“Sorry lad, guess I’m just a little nervous is all,” Eli said self-consciously, “Never really done nothin’ like this before, ya know? Least, not with another man, errr . . . boy? You . . . are a boy ain’tcha?” he asked, his gaze dragging down Redd’s smooth body to the drooling cunt between his thighs.
Redd nodded, blushing. “I’m a boy,” he said, “Just born different is all.”
“Heh, I can see that much, lad,” the baker grunted. He adjusted his thick cock through his trousers, throbbing now against his thigh, “And, er, tell me, lad, can that flat belly o’ yours quicken a man’s seed?”
I wish.
“No,” Redd admitted softly.
Eli heard the pang of sadness in his voice. A sadness what echoed his own after learning the witch’s curse not only affected his seed, but his Cyrilla’s womb as well.
“Aye, the gods be cruel more times ‘n not lad,” the baker said solemnly, “Take this blasted thing,” he fisted the cock-crux again, “Twenty years I’ve been wearin’ this thing ‘n not so much as a twitch down there. Then you go ‘n walk in me door, ‘n me prick ain’t stopped leakin’ since!” Eli shook his head, sadly, “’N with me Cyrilla well past her child rearin’ days, too. Heh! Aye, lad, the gods sure know how to kick a man when he’s down, that one I’ll give ya, aye.”
“Mayhap you just need a new god,” Redd shrugged.
This time, it was Eli who recoiled as if he’d just been slapped. The baker wasn’t used to hearing such blasphemy spoken aloud. And never in his bakery. While there were many gods, they all served the one true phallic god . . . or so the local priest told them. And the temple priests ruled their village with an iron fist. If one of them heard the boy in the little red riding hood blaspheme such filth, Redd would have likely seen himself dragged off in chains to the nearest dungeon.
“Right, and, errr . . . what god do you serve, lad?” Eli said suspiciously.
Redd licked his lips, eyeing the baker’s fat dick print in his trousers. “Only god what matters, Mr. Eli, sir,” he said, and he dropped to his knees on the floor, taking the baker’s trousers down with him.
Eli’s cock jumped out in front of him. Thick and proud. Riddled with veins what seemed to pulse with virile male need. His head was fat and angry, a silver thread of cock slop spilling from his slit.
Redd wasted no time swallowing the man whole, burying his nose in Eli’s thick black bush. Letting the taste of him brush across his tongue and into the back of his throat. The baker could only watch in horror as his body betrayed him. As his hips snapped forward. As his balls tightened in his sack.
“Ahh! S-Slow down there, lad, i-it ain’t no r-race,” Eli panted when the redhead began moving his lips back and forth on him, fast, his tongue swirling up and down Eli’s pulsing shaft, his head.
Another moan.
Eli’s eyes rolled back in his head. His hips were rocking back and forth now, fucking Redd’s sweaty face. The sound of smacking lips and contented, boyish moans rising above the roar of the ovens.
“Gods be damned, lad, if that don’t feel good,” the baker growled, curling his fingers in Redd’s ginger curls. Fucking himself faster in and out of those magic lips. No one had ever taken him with their mouths before. Such things were forbidden in his faith.
Eli was starting to see why.
It felt too good. Overwhelming, even. The wet heat of the boy’s mouth around him. Redd’s fingers teasing his heavy tanks. So full Redd could practically feel the years’ worth of unspent seed churning inside them while his other hand steady stroked the shaft where his lips left off.
Eli stopped pumping his hips, a familiar sensation creeping up on him all too soon. “Oy . . . oy there, lad, c-careful what your doin’ down there, d-don’t need me cum cannon . . . goin’ off . . . quite . . . NNNNHHHYYYAHHHH!”
The baker’s hands tightened on the back of Redd’s head. But instead of pulling the boy away in some last-ditch effort to save his load for the boy’s pussy, he hugged Redd’s face tighter to his crotch. Redd gagged when he felt Mr. Eli’s fat knob at the back of his throat, the first fat rope of the baker’s jizz blasting the back of his throat.
Eli’s eyes rolled up in his head. His toes curled. It seemed to go on forever. Rope after rope of his own sacred seed blasting down the redhead’s neck. The boy in the red riding hood on his knees, looking up at him. Eyes watery. Nose runny.
And smiling.
Redd was smiling around his fat cock as Eli fed the boy his load.
He pushed the boy off him suddenly, the last few spurts of his load splattering Redd’s hair and cheek and chest as he landed on his ample ass. Redd blinked up at the man, choking down air and wiping his face with the back of his hand.
“Did I . . . do something wrong?” he said between gasping breaths. His head was spinning. It had all happened so fast.
“What the hells is wrong with ya, lad?” the baker growled, his erection, still lathered in the boy’s throat slime, throbbing and waving back and forth like a bloated log in front of him, “Ain’tcha hear me tell ya I’s close? A man’s seed be sacred, ya know.”
Redd gazed up the man’s furry body. He felt dangerously close to tears again. “I . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Eli, sir. It . . . it’s just you tasted so good and it had been so long for you and . . . and . . . sniff . . . I truly meant no—”
“Never mind all that blubberin’,” Eli interrupted impatiently, “With me curse broken I reckon there’s still be enough ink in me quill to finish what we came back here to do.”
Redd felt himself hauled off the floor and tossed over the table as if he was nothing more than a bag of grain. The smell of yeast and flour filled his nose, and then his mouth as the baker pushed him face-first into the giant wad of dough. Redd felt his knees kicked apart. Hot breath licked at his exposed sex. An uncontrollable shudder of pleasure rippled through him when rough fingers traced his slick little slit, stroked his clit.
Redd’s thighs trembled when he felt his lips opened, the baker thumbing at his opening, teasing needy little moans from him. “Fuuuuck Mr. Eli, sirrrr,” Redd purred, practically wagging his round little butt in the man’s face, “H-How’d you . . . nnhh . . . g-get so good at this? A-And a-after all this t-time?”
“Ya can thank me Cyrilla for that one, laddie,” said Eli, “Taught me everything I know.”
Redd sucked a sharp breath when Mr. Eli slipped two fat hairy fingers three knuckles deep in Redd’s drooly cunt. He thought he might come apart at the seams when the baker curled the digits tight against that sweet spot deep in Redd’s pussy. The one what so many men had found before, and what such a precious few spent any actual time trying to get to know. Redd moaned into the wad of dough. A whorish sound, greedy and desperate.
“Fuuuuckkeeeng hells lad,” the baker keened, “Slicker ‘n any woman I ever seen.”
Redd felt his inner walls squeeze around the man’s fingers at the compliment, and next thing he knew Mr. Eli was dragging his thick fingers back and forth inside him, sawing in and out of him and curling big fingers against Redd’s spot with each pass.
He threw his head back, his moans and the sloppy wet squelch of his pussy filling the kitchen as the baker fingered him relentlessly on the table where he’d crafted countless pies over the years. Redd’s eyes rolled back in his head. His toes curled. The pressure inside him became volcanic. A dam about to break. He couldn’t hold back if he wanted.
“Uhhnh-Uhhnnh-UUUUUHHHHHNNHHHNHH!” the redhead groaned when the floodgates opened his cunt and he soaked the baker to his wrist.
“Aye, just look at’cha, all cuntin’ ‘n squirtin’ all o’er the place,” Eli croaked, the redheaded boy’s pussy spasming and squeezing round his fat fingers, “If I ain’t know better I’d say you was a real woman . . . minus the tits, that is. And the voice, mayhap. Course, you sure sounded like a woman when you’s cuntin’ just now.”
Redd barely heard the man. His ears were ringing. And his head felt all swimmy after practically coming his boy brains out all over the man’s hand.
He was still riding high from his orgasm when the baker unceremoniously yanked his fingers out of Redd’s still weeping boycunt. Redd choked out a gasp, his pussy suddenly feeling empty and hollow. He wanted more. Needed more.
“P-Please . . .,” Redd begged, the word muffled as much by exhaustion as by the dough smashed in his face.
“Aye, in a minute lad,” the baker promised, straightening to position himself behind the redhead. He hated how desperate the boy sounded, how desperate he, Eli, felt. And yet the gods themselves couldn’t have dragged him away from the boy in the little red riding hood in that moment.
A grateful moan leapt from the boy’s lips when he felt Eli’s fat, fleshy knob slip between his labia and kiss his entrance. Redd practically vibrated, needy for the fullness of the man’s cock inside him. And still, the baker hesitated. Instead of fucking himself into Redd right then and there, Mr. Eli cupped the curve of Redd’s hip with one hand and fisted the cock-crux with the other. The throb of magic pulsing through the ancient wood was faint but steady, rhythmic. This magic awakened by the boy in the little red riding hood.
Eli closed his eyes and prayed.
The words were foreign to Redd’s ears. A tongue Redd never heard before. But pretty, nonetheless. A prayer what might have brought tears to his eyes had the baker not begun pushing himself into Redd’s throbbing cunt an inch at a time with each reverent word he spoke. Redd’s back arched. His fingers fisted tighter in the sticky wad of dough. The stretch in his cunt was divine and made his thighs tremble while the baker fed every fat inch of his cock to Redd’s hungry pussy.
“Amen,” Eli said when he was finished with his prayer, when his cock was wholly sheathed in the boy’s wet heat. He dropped the throbbing cock-crux and let it fall between his hairy man tits once more. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at the place where they were connected. His pubes soaked with the redhead’s juices. His cock cocooned in Redd’s warmth.
“Th-That was beautiful,” Redd managed, looking back at the baker standing behind him. Mr. Eli’s face was flush. His hairy body lathered in a layer of sweat what Redd would have licked clean from the baker’s most private male parts had the baker told him to.
“A prayer to the Maiden Mother, the prayer of virility,” admitted Eli, his voice raspy and thick, “Me mum used to say it every moon. Said it be good luck. Haven’t said it me self in ages. Not since the Brotherhood came along.”
His fingers curled round Redd’s thick hips, his own hips rolling against the boy’s ass and feeling Redd’s cunt hug his dick even tighter. The thought of taking this man’s seed, of quickening it inside his belly, made Redd’s pussy hum all the way to his own barren womb. He pushed himself back on the man, impaling himself deeper on Eli’s throbbing tool.
“Fuck me . . . please,” the redhead begged, tossing his head back and relishing the yawning stretch of his pussy walls around the other man.
Eli dragged his cock slowly back through Redd’s eager fuck channel only to slam himself back inside, hard, driving a grunt from the boy’s lungs. He did it again. Slow. Teasing. Methodical. And again, slammed himself back home in the redhead’s cunt, harder than before. Redd’s grunt more guttural. The smack of their flesh connecting a whip’s crack on the stuffy air.
Back and forth.
In and out.
Slow at first . . . agonizingly slow . . . before the baker’s thrusts grew headier, more intense. The kitchen filled with the sounds of their fuck. The sloppy squelch of Redd’s pussy. The brutal plap-plap-plap of naked, sweaty skin on skin sex.
“F-fucking hells, lad . . . fits . . . round me dong . . . like a gods be damned . . . sleeve,” Eli grunted as he fucked himself in and out of the boy in the little red riding hood, “L-like that cunny o’ yours . . . was made for . . . me own cock!”
Redd couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t speak. His entire world reduced to the fullness inside his body. Another man’s cock pumping into him. Eli’s hairy bulk pinning him to the table. That fat, bulbous dickhead battering away at his spot, at that hidden spot inside him. The one what always made Redd feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
Eli slipped a hand between his legs, found Redd’s clit. The swollen nub so tender and vulnerable, so fucking warm. And when he stroked the boy, Redd’s entire body jerked and convulsed beneath the baker’s hairier body as he came all over again, this time around the man’s fat cock.
“Ffffuuuuuuck!” cried Redd when the orgasm slammed into him, eyes rolling back in his head as his toes curled against the floor.
“Gods be damned lad, I can’t . . . hnngh . . . can’t hold it . . .” Eli puffed, every ounce of his will poured into keeping the load in his balls, at least for a few moments longer. But the baker could feel his balls pulled tight to his root. The seed already flooding his shaft ready for release.
“Give it to me,” Redd demanded, “Fuck your load into me, Mr. Eli, sir, breed me full of your babies . . . pleeease!”
That was all the encouragement Eli needed. He gripped the boy in the red riding hood by his ample hips and began pounding into him at a brutal pace. His fingers dug into creamy flesh. His balls climbed higher in his sack. Redd could feel the man’s shaft swelling, expanding around the fresh load of cum about to shoot out of it. And then . . .
“Oh gods lad, here comes, take it . . . take it . . . take me seed . . . AAAAARRRRHHH!” Eli howled, pumping into the boy one last time before loosing rope after rope of fresh fuck spunk deep in Redd’s receptive young cunt. Powerful, virile bursts of male seed what would have surely knocked Redd up had he been a “real” woman.
When his balls were properly emptied, Eli the baker collapsed atop Redd puffing and sweating like he just ran a marathon. Redd could feel the cock-crux sandwiched between their bodies. The shape of the rigid penis bit into the flesh between his shoulder blades, the pulse in the ancient wood growing fainter and fainter as if it, too, had just busted a fat nut inside the boy in the little red riding hood.
After what felt like ages, the baker’s cock softened enough to slip free of his pussy. A heady mix of their combined fuck slop spilled down Redd’s smooth thighs. Redd wished he could keep the man’s fluids inside him forever.
“So, did I earn that crust of bread?” Redd asked over a fuck-drunk grin.
Eli barked a laugh, the good-natured smile Redd encountered when he first walked into The Baker’s Basket returning to the baker’s flush, sweaty face.
“Aye, that’cha did, lad, that’cha did . . . ‘n a bite more besides!” he boomed jovially, “Now, let’s getcha cleaned up nice ‘n pretty again. Don’t need your grampy seein’ ya all fresh fucked like this now, do we?”
***
Redd helped himself to another apple tart as he watched the baker wrap a load of bread in cloth as careful as if he were wrapping a newborn babe in swaddling clothes.
Eli had let him wash up after their fuck session, something Redd desperately needed. He’d been a mess. Sweaty and spent and caked all over with a sticky mix of flour, cum, and dough. He knees were still weak. Shaky after their fuck. Something what always reminded the boy in the little red riding hood the sex was worth it.
“So, tell me lad,” said the baker as he worked, “Where’s this grampy o’ yours stay anyways? Might see fit to send him a basket o’ me finest wares here in the next few days.”
Redd shrugged. “The woods,” he offered casually, popping the last morsel in his mouth and chewing contentedly.
Eli stopped what he was doing, eyes big and round when they ticked to the boy in the little red riding hood. “Surely you don’t say true, lad,” said the baker, exasperated, “The Hundred Bator Woods?”
Redd nodded. “He sent for me last night,” he told Eli, and pulled Grandfather’s strange letter from the pocket of his cloak for the baker to have a look.
Eli took the note reluctantly and immediately regretted it. The moment his fingers touched the crinkled, cum-stained scrap of parchment, the baker felt his cock lurch to life once more in his trousers. Hard and throbbing, leaky as always. As if he’d not just shot two of the biggest loads of his life—one down the redhead’s throat, the other up his greedy cunt.
Holding onto the table for dear life lest his knees gave out beneath him, Eli read the scribbled words. Cryptic and strange. Something about a virus what kept the old man glued to his cock, coming his brains out over and over and over again. And how a visit from his grandson might help to set things right in the old man again.
At last, the baker folded Grandfather’s letter up and handed it back to the boy, glad to be rid of the damn thing. There was magic in that letter. Woven into the parchment it was written on if Eli had to guess.
“And, err, where’s your da to warn his fool-headed son away from these woods,” said the baker, fixing Redd with a stern look what reminded the boy in that moment very much of his own father.
“Dead, sir,” Redd told the man, the pull in his voice catching him unawares.
Eli heaved a heavy sigh. He should have known as much. Small wonder the boy flaunted himself all over the village. Why he let anyone with a cock in that sweet cunny of his. A boy needed a father. The boy in the little red riding hood, perhaps, more than most.
“S’pose it won’t, err, do much good to tell ya it be best to steer clear o’ those trees, aye lad?” Eli tried, “That the woods . . . they do somethin’ to boys like you.”
Redd’s gaze met his, the sadness evident in his voice earlier bright in his green eyes now. “He’s all I have left, Mr. Eli, sir,” Redd said shakily, “And he’s sick. If I don’t go to Grandfather, who will?”
They looked at each other a moment, Eli chewing this over in his head as his fingers drummed against the wood table. At last, he smacked his hand down on the flour-dusted surface hard enough to make Redd jump.
“Well then, if that’s the way of it . . . then this won’t do at all,” said the baker, scowling down at the loaf of bread he just finished wrapping.
Redd blinked, tears threatening to well again in his eyes. “So . . . you aren’t sending me off to Grandfather’s house with a loaf of bread?”
Eli looked at him, confused. “What? No, not that! I promised ya a crust o’ bread ‘n I be a man o’ me word. ‘Sides, you earned it fair ‘n square, lad,” he told the redhead, shaking his head, “But a single loaf ain’t near enough to carry ya through them woods. Here, take a bit o’ this . . . and a few o’ these . . . ‘n ya can’t have those without a bit o’ this right here . . .”
Redd’s eyes grew wider with each item the baker thrust in his arms. Loaves of bread. Various jams. Little cakes and cookies. Even some meats and cheeses from Mr. Eli’s own personal stash.
When he’d gathered as much as he could, Eli took a step back and looked the redheaded boy up and down like a tailor sizing him up for a new suit. “There, that oughtta hold ya over for a few days.”
“Actually, I hoped to be at Grandfather’s house by nightfall,” Redd told the baker, who looked suddenly crestfallen.
“And may the wind be at your back, lad,” Eli told the boy, remembering everything he himself had heard about the woods. His cock twitched. How easy it would have been for him to be enticed by those woods when he was the boy’s age.
He cleared his throat and stood taller. “Now then, there be anything else I can do ya for this morn, lad?”
Redd blushed. “I, uhm, really hate to ask it, but do you have a basket?”
Eli barked a hearty, good-natured laugh. “Heh, that I do, lad, that I do,” he said, and ran to grab one of his finest baskets from the front of the store where a line was already starting to form at the door.
***
He led Redd out the back door, careful none of his “real” customers saw the boy in the red riding hood exit his modest bakery. It was a small village, and folks in small villages talked. And the last thing he wanted was for his Cyrilla to catch wind of what he’d done. Eli would have enough explaining to do about why his cock worked again, and after so long.
In the alley, the day was warm and bright. All sunshine and cloudless skies. Redd thanked the baker again for his kindness and hospitality and even gave the man one of his knightly bows before turning to go. Redd was anxious to set off. Afraid he’d already wiled away too much of the day on cock and sweets.
“Oy lad, best take this with ya too!” the baker called after him when Redd had scarce taken but a few steps. When he turned, Mr. Eli was holding something out to him. It was the cock-crux. The ancient wood quiet now, still as Eli’s loins . . . at least, for the moment.
“Where you’re goin’ you’re gonna need it more ‘n I ever did,” said the baker.
He placed it around the boy’s neck, the ancient carved wood heavy and clunky against Redd’s smooth chest. A faint pulse from within the wood. There and gone. Maybe never even there to begin with. Redd wrapped his fingers round the veiny shaft of the talisman.
“Uhm, thanks . . . I think,” Redd said, “I’ll, uh, give it back to you when I return from the woods. Mayhap I’ll have my grandfather with me.”
“Mayhap,” Eli smiled sadly.
He watched Redd go, basket clutched to his chest and little red riding cloak flapping behind him as he skipped down the alley, flashing the world a glimpse of the fleshy mounds of his creamy ass . . . and the baker knew. Knew that he would never see hide nor hair of the boy in the little red riding hood again.
“Aye, the gods be cruel more times ‘n not,” Eli muttered under his breath, and turned to the business of opening his store.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
