"What are you doing?” I asked, “Put your skirt back on."
"Oh no, wolfie,” she replied, “I can't pass up such a perfectly hard dick. This big dick needs to be fucked."
"It is not a ‘dick',” I arrogantly corrected her, “it is a penis and I don't do that F word. When I am involved with a young lady, we make love."
She laughed. It was a cruel laugh that sent shivers up my spine.
"Well, wolfie,” she responded, “tonight this is a dick and you are going to get fucked, not made love to."
She squatted over my erection and slammed down on it with her body. It went directly into her vagina without missing a beat. Her juices saturated me and we both screamed.
"Oh yeah!” she squealed as she bucked naked me, “Ride ’em cowgirl! Whoo hoo!"
"Oh yes,” I groaned, “Ride me."
She grabbed a handful of fur at the back of my head and tilted my head back, kissing me deeply and swirling her tongue inside my mouth so that I would gently suck on it. She moved up and down in a furious rocking motion, now taking my erection fully inside her wet flesh. She was relentless, never stopping or slowing her rhythmical dance, and groan after groan began to leave my throat with no way of me stopping it. My legs were trembling again, like two uncontainable and unruly children, and even though my mind was willing them to settle down, they would not be controlled. The feeling of her pussy wrapped around my cock was an erotic and astonishing combination. I strained against the cuffs.
"Oohh … god … you're driving me crazy,” I breathed.
"Tell me that you love my pussy fucking you,” she said.
"I love … you … making … making love to me,” I muttered.
"Say it!” she shrieked, “You love my pussy fucking you!"
"I love … your … your pussy … fuck … fucking me,” I repeated, my breath now coming out in short, labored gasps.
I would have said or done anything she wanted me to at that moment, even that I would let Satan bend me over in the middle of Grand Central Station, pull my pants and underwear down around my ankles, stick his thick 13” long dick between my butt cheeks and fuck me up the ass with it, if only she would let me come. She knew I was getting near the breaking point. My fingers were digging into the bedposts.
"Come for me,” she demanded.
"Oohh … yes … yes,” I whimpered, “Don't stop … oh my god … oohh … please don't … oohh … don't stop."
I knew I sounded like a sniveling, pussy-whipped wuss, but her sweet cunt was so incredibly warm and wet around me that, try as I might, I couldn't hold back. She was playing me as harmonious as a violin and she knew it.
"That's it,” she continued, coaxing me firmly, “that's a good boy, wolfie … do it … come for me … fuck me … explode in my pussy."
"Please…” I moaned, my voice now coming out in short whines.
"Please what, wolfie?” she teased, enjoying her control, tightening her vaginal muscles again. It felt as if there was a velvet vise enveloping my dick and I could feel a bit of drool on my chin from all my panting.
"Ooohh … pl … ease … fu … ck me … pl … ease … le … let … me … c … come."
My words were no longer intelligible … they were mere syllables with low moans behind them. I had never experienced such a maddening, yet phenomenal mixture of pleasure and pain. She tightened her cunt around my cock and the orgasm that followed was the hardest I had ever experienced in my life. I threw my head back and groaned loud and long, gripping the bedposts with all my might.
Semen blasted from my testicles with a force that could have launched the next space shuttle, leaving me panting and fighting for breath. Red's pussy milked every last drop of cum out of me and then I felt her rise off of me, leaving my dick drooping like a pair of 90 year old tits.
I opened my eyes as she was packing up my valuables in a pillowcase and starting to walk out the door.
"Pl … please,” I whined, “don't leave me like this."
She looked back over her shoulder at me, smoothed her skirt down over her hips, and smiled.
"Don't worry, wolfie,” she told me, “the key to the handcuffs is under the pillow. It may take you a few minutes to get yourself uncuffed, but I'm sure you can do it.” She gave me a military salute. “Thanks for the goodies."
And with that she was gone.
I had to smile and shake my head. I knew that no one would ever believe the real story of Little Red Riding Hood, so I would just let the fable stay as it was.
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The tension had been building for several months. In the beginning, we were online acquaintances that chatted and eventually sent each other a picture of ourselves. I instantly fell in love with her beautiful eyes, short dark hair, and infectious smile. Then we decided to talk on the telephone and I fell in love with her gentle voice. She was soft spoken and kind, but I knew from our chats that she would not be so kind if you riled her. She was a divorced mother of two boys, now grown and gone with families of their own, and we had shared many stories of how she had brought them up under a strict hand. I was secretly envious of her sons, not only for their ability to be close to her, but knowing she had been their only disciplinarian.
I had been the only child of a loving mother and father, but have to admit I had been spoiled and pampered by them. Discipline in their household where I grew up was a reduction in my allowance, of which I had no use for anyway. I craved the punishments that I would hear my friends tell me that they had gotten for their misbehavior, but my parents were of the mindset to “spare the rod and spoil the child". They were also of the 1960's “flower child” generation and didn't believe in striking anyone in anger.
Alana loved making me do things that I knew I shouldn't do but couldn't resist doing for her. I went into work one Saturday afternoon to try and catch up on some paper work, but as I sat at my desk and fumbled through file folders, I couldn't stop thinking about her, so decided to give her a quick call.
"It's so nice to hear your voice, Daniel,” she said when she realized it was me.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” I said quickly.
"No, not at all, just doing a bit of house cleaning and laundry. What are you up to today?"
"I came in to work to do some paper work,” I told her, “but I can't seem to concentrate on it."
"Why is that?” she asked.
I blushed. I knew there was almost 20 years between us but she was the most beautiful older woman I had ever known.
"Because I was thinking about you."
"And what happens when you think of me?” she asked.
The blush on my face got a deeper red.
"I get hard."
She chuckled to herself.
"Are you touching yourself, Daniel?"
I loved the way she called me by real name instead of the stupid nicknames my immature friends made out of it.
"Yes ma'am. A little. Just through my shorts."
"I want you to do something for me."