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Fairytale: Little Red Riding Hood

Scarlett was well named, for not only was red her favourite colour, she also enjoyed acting as though she was a scarlet woman. Donning a red sequined mask, she would spend an evening out on the town, performing in the lowest dancing halls. She would allow men to fondle her through her scanty costumes, and loved seeing the lust in their eyes, the burning desire for her body. But she never yielded it to any of them.

There was one man, Nick Wolfe, who worked as a barkeep at a particularly seedy tavern. He was ready with his fists if any patrons broke the only cardinal rule of the place: rape was not permitted. There were back rooms aplenty for those who paid enough for the girls' full attentions. Occasionally the girls would retire for the remainder of the evening, or appear with more rouge than normal to cover bruises, but so long as they went willingly to the back, what happened there was considered legitimate by the owners, and thus by Nick himself. Though she had been invited -- sometimes persistently -- Scarlett had never been back there.

Scarlett found the darkly handsome, brooding Nick alluring in a way she didn't understand. Wasn't he just like all the other brutes who frequented the halls and adjoining brothels? Didn't he think with his cock more often than his long-haired head? On a handful of occasions, at the end of the night, he'd escorted her out to cabs he'd summoned. As he'd handed her into the hansom last week, his hand had tightened on hers, briefly, before he'd dipped his head and wished her a low, velvety, "Good night."

Tonight she danced with her usual abandon, flinging her skirt high to reveal the special bloomers she'd sewn for herself, ones that hugged her snatch tight and had only a thin ribbon tied into a bow in the middle of her ass cheeks and at the top of her thatch of curly hair. The tavern's patrons cheered and shouted boisterously. One man seated near the rough stage-platform had unlaced his britches and was fondling himself beneath the table. With a leering grin, she shook her breasts at him, turned, doubled over to meet his gaze between her legs, and flung her skirts up over her back -- thereby giving him and the others a quick glimpse of her nearly-bare ass -- before straightening to twirl away once more.

"Tha's indecent, tha' is," one man shouted from the bar, his face red and beaded with sweat. "Li'l strumpet oughtta be punished fer tha'."

"Yah!" shouted a man in a sailor's uniform from the side of the room near the steamy windows. "Bend the wench o'er an' give 'er a lickin'!"

"I'll use me belt on 'er!" cried the man who had been jerking off under the table.

Scarlett had heard such ribald suggestions before, but this was the first time more than two people had joined in. She felt a flutter of unease at the thought that they might try something. But the disquietude died almost at once as she caught sight of Nick Wolfe poised near the edge of the bar, prepared to step in and crack unruly skulls together if the need arose. She winked at him and continued to roll her hips alluringly. Reaching up, she twined her fingers together, her arms stiff, her feet spread wide and knees bent, and rocked her body provocatively, arching back and thrusting her breasts up into the air.

There were more cheers, some shouted suggestions that she do the same in the back -- on her back -- but she only smiled, blew the men kisses, and began to twirl, the movement lifting her skirts once more. Faster and faster she spun, doing her best to keep herself steady. She thought she saw the sailor mount the dais, and on her next turn, she saw that Nick was no longer at the bar.

He'll take care of me, she thought, then she smacked into a hard, tall body, her head reeling, and her earlier doubts returned. Won't he?

The man on stage with her spun her around so her back was pressed to his well-muscled chest. As the world settled around her, she saw the drunk standing at the foot of the stage, his belt still open but his manhood thankfully tucked back inside his pants. Beside him was the sailor, his rod stiff in his breeches, and the man who had first called for her thrashing.

"Give it to 'er good, mind!" called the indecent drunk.

"I don't fancy fighting all three of them," Nick's voice said, low and deep in her ear, his breath tickling her neck. His hands were still wrapped around her upper arms. "Especially since it looks like the sailor might have a few companions with him. So we're going to give them what they want, eh, Scarlett?"

Before she could answer, he pulled her down to kneel with him on the platform. Twisting her around -- despite her short cry of shocked protest -- he bent her over his knee. Flipping her skirts up over her back, he bared her backside. One large hand pressed against her back, and the other began to rhythmically slap her upturned ass, first one cheek, then the other. She shrieked, struggled, but it did no good. He was too strong. His blows weren't violent, but it stung like hell, especially when he changed pace after the first dozen blows, and began raining all his blows upon just one cheek at a time, so that the pain built and intensified.

She quickly discovered that her struggles were arousing not only her audience, but her as well. Her breasts were rubbing against the fabric of her costume, and a wet patch was forming at her crotch. Her first thought was to fear that the men might see her arousal, but then she realized it would likely arouse them still further. Their lust fueled her sense of power, and she laughed through her tears as Nick righted her and placed her back on her feet.

"There. The naughty strumpet has been punished. But now, gentlemen, it's closing time. Go on home and wank off to the memory of this little scarlet woman being spanked, and be off out of here."

There were some good-natured grumbles, and the sailor approached to ask for her favors for the evening, but Scarlett laughingly turned him away. "If I get spanked for dancing, I'd hate to see what Mr. Wolfe would do to me if I went in back with a brawny sailor-boy!"

That night in her loft, Scarlett dreamed of herself in Nick Wolfe's arms. She was dancing as she did on stage, and his body was moving with hers.

The following afternoon, clouds rolled in from the north and thunder growled ominously. Scarlett donned what she considered a boringly modest dress, one that covered her shoulders and showed no cleavage, and which came down past her ankles. Over that she flung a bright red hooded cloak, a compromise between her daring night-time persona and the demure woman she appeared to be during the day. Settling a bottle of wine carefully between the fresh loaves of bread she'd purchased from the baker and the small wheel of cheese from the stall in the market, she tucked the basket under her arm and left her lodgings. Walking to the edge of town, she ducked under the overhanging leaves at the edge of the forest and made her way towards the path to her grandmother's cottage, three miles from town.

Three quarters of an hour later, it began to drizzle.

"Damn," she cursed. She loved the feeling of the rain soaking her clothes, making them cling to her alluringly, but she knew her grandmother would be offended, and would lecture her about morality and propriety, decency and the ideal behavior of a lady.

"Well, well. If it ain't the Scarlett woman from the dancing hall. Is yer ass still scarlet from last night, whore?"

She spun on the path to find the sailor ambling along behind her, his rolling gait identifying him beneath the oilskin cloak he now wore.

"I am no whore," she snapped. It didn't matter when men called her that in the halls, but on her weekly visit to her grandmother, she found the term offensive and inappropriate. "I'm going to visit my grandmother, and I'll ask that you leave me be." She raised her chin and gave him a frosty stare, so unlike the smoldering, smoky glances she used at night that she hoped he'd think he'd mistaken her for someone else.

"Oh-ho! So yeh like to play coy, do yeh? I'll teach yeh some manners, bitch; more'n the man las' night did, at any rate." He reached to unbuckle his belt, and Scarlett turned to flee.

"Oh, no yeh don'," he snapped, flinging himself after her and catching her in a bone-crushing grip. "Ye'll learn to mind yer manners, slut, an' do as yer told."

He threw her to the muddy ground as the rain began to fall more heavily. "Down in the mud where yeh belong." Straddling her, he pinned her wrists in one heavy, scarred fist. His other hand tugged at his britches, impatiently brushing his cloak away. "Bite me, an' I'll knock yer block so hard yeh won't know what way's up. Now, suck it off like a good slut."

Pursing her lips, Scarlett turned her head away. At the edge of her vision, where the mulch of fallen leaves met the well-worn path, she saw what she thought was a pair of muddy boots.

Pain shot through her face as the sailor punched her in the jaw, and then the weight on her abdomen was gone. Through the ringing in her ears, she thought she heard a scuffle. Shaking her head, she pushed herself unsteadily upright. The sailor lay prone upon the ground, his face half submerged in a puddle. Nick Wolfe stood over him, his fist still balled up, his chest rising and falling with short, sharp, angry breaths.

"Come on." He stepped over to her, extended his hand, and hefted her to her feet.

"Thank y-" she began, but broke off as he clutched her to him, his lips coming down with bruising force upon hers. His tongue probed insistently, and in surprise, she opened her mouth to him. He plundered her insistently, thrusting, exploring, nipping and biting.

She groaned into him, her hands rising to wrap around his shoulders.

"Nick," she sobbed, confused, frightened, and filled with desire.

"Mine," he growled. "I've wanted you for too long. Now, you'll be mine."

"Naughty Nick..." she groaned into the side of his throat. "I do not let men have me. I only make them want me." She pushed him away, her hands hot against his chest.

"It seems to me that you have very little say in the matter, my dear Scarlett." He pushed her up against the nearest tree, his body pinning hers against the unyielding wood. "Too long have you tempted me, taunted me, made me want you." He was panting with need as he fumbled at her throat for the clasp of her cloak. "Now, I will have you. I've seen by your heated stares and your leering winks that you've desired me as well." He thrust his groin against hers as he flung her red cloak to the ground, grinding her into the tree, and she cried out, her ass still sore from the spanking he'd given her last night. The memory brought a flood of warmth through her body, even as his hand pawed roughly at her breast.

"Not here... Not like this," she gasped as he hiked her skirt up around her hips, revealing her despised full-length, unmodified bloomers. "Please, Nick..."

"I like what you called me before," he said lowly, with a wicked smile. "Naughty Nick doesn't play by the rules. Not out here in the forest, where the Wolfe is lord. Out here, animal nature wins out, and the Wolfe does as he pleases."

He struggled to discard her bloomers and hold her skirts up. Finally, he bunched everything up behind her. "There. That'll protect your tender little ass from the rough tree. Now, unlace your bodice," he ordered, his own hands going to the lacings of his trousers. He gazed down at the patch of red-gold hair between her milk-white thighs.

Feeling the thrill of power she usually experienced in the dancing hall, she gazed at him through her long lashes and sensuously began to unlace her bodice. "Naughty Nick... Just how naughty do you intend to be with me?"

She gasped as his hand suddenly plunged into her depths, forcing her back against the tree and up on her toes.

"I intend to fuck you so hard you'll beg for mercy," he growled, his stiff cock in his other hand, aimed at her glistening folds. "You've had me wanting you so long... Now you're going to beg me to finish you off."

His fingers thrust between her swollen nether lips, spreading the moisture that dripped from deep within her. He found the bead at the apex of her slit, and she gasped at the pressure. Then he positioned himself against her, and slammed his shaft home.

Her cry was lost in a roar of thunder and the heavens opened up around them, but the storm's power paled in comparison to that of the man within her. His breath steamed as he thrust into her, his hands clutching her bruised ass, her tender breasts. He licked and kissed along her neck, then sucked the skin into his mouth until it turned the colour of a bruise. Scarlett could only wrap her arms and legs around him and ride out the storm. Bending, he took her nipple into his mouth, suckling as though he was a babe. Then he bit down, hard, and she cried out again, but she could not get away. His thrusts became more frenzied, deeper, harder, and she felt herself drowning in a swirl of pleasure and pain, whirling so fast she was certain she was being pulled apart from within.

"Mine," he hissed again, clutching her to his soaking chest, his long hair plastered flat by the rain. "Say you're mine, Scarlett. Say it."

"Nick," she moaned, dropping her head onto his shoulder limply. "Naughty... Nick... Oh, oh..."

"Say you're mine. You belong to no one but me. Tell me, Scarlett. Tell me..."

"Nick... My lover..." Her voice sank to a panted whisper, as she spoke words she never thought she could say to any man. "I'm yours. Only yours."

Nick roared in triumph as he came within her, and she screamed out her release, then fell into his arms, and the blackness of exhaustion.

"Come on, my sweet beauty. Time to be going on. Your grandmother will be worried if you're too much later."

Scarlett roused to the soft voice in her ear. With a groan, she opened her eyes. She was wrapped in her cloak, which was damp and mudstained, but warmer with his arms wrapped around her.

"The story I think we should tell your grandmother -- should she ask why you're late -- is that I rescued you from a piratical sailor. It'll explain the state of your clothes admirably, and no doubt gratitude at having rescued her beloved granddaughter will make her blind to any of my flaws!"

Scarlett chuckled softly and reached for her discarded bloomers.

"Leave those. You won't be needing them anymore, my Scarlett."

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