Little Red Riding Slut

It’s a bright sunny day in the forest as I idle slowly along the path through the sparse trees. Just so you know, my name is Rebecca, but everyone calls me Little Red on account of the red hooded cloak I always wear, at least I think that’s why.

They all warned me not to take the shortcut through the forest, but I’ll be fucked if I’m walking the long way round to Granny’s house, not with this heavy basket of goodies in tow. Big bad wolf or no big bad wolf. They tell me granny is ill but that’s old people for you, always something wrong with them, and I get the chore of checking in on her.

After an hour or so of walking I stop for a rest by a big old oak tree and sit down. Opening the basket I reach in and grab a cake, taking a big bite as I feel the soft warm breeze blow over my long legs and up my short red dress. I lie back enjoying the attention of the wind on my body, almost drifting off to sleep when I hear footsteps.
I open my eyes and see you there.
‘Who….who are you?’ I ask nervously.
‘Isn’t it obvious’ you reply pausing. I stare at you with a baffled look on my face.
‘I’m the big bad wolf’ you tell me eventually, and impatiently.
‘Are you going to eat me up?’ I ask coyly
‘Well, I am a bit peckish’ you reply
‘I have a basket of goodies here, It’s heavy as fuck and could do with being lightened a little’ I say nervously, hoping to tempt you away from consuming me whole like everyone told me would happen.
‘Such coarse language from such a pretty young thing’ you say, eying me in a way that makes me feel like a three course meal.
‘Sweet young virgins aren’t what they used to be.’ you add nostalgically.
‘I’m no virgin!’ I tell you smiling, ‘and I’m not so sweet when you get to know me either’
‘Oh my dear girl’ you say licking your lips and running your eyes hungrily over me ‘I’ll bet you are!’
I begin to wonder just what part of me you are thinking of eating when I hear the sounds of a tree falling in the distance.
Relieved I say ‘Thats the woodcutter, you’d best scoot or else he’ll chop you to bits, you know what woodcutters are like, all muscle and any excuse for a bit of bloodshed.’
‘And where might you be headed with your basket of goodies, my little appetizer?’ you ask preparing to make your exit.
‘Grannies house’ I tell you rather naively.
‘She lives just outside the woods’, I add.
‘That way’, I point.
‘Very helpful’ you say grinning broadly, ‘perhaps when next we meet I can nibble your pie, and perhaps I might have something for you to wrap your lips around’.