From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Little Red, Riding Hood Date: 17 Apr 1996 11:06:32 -0400 Hi, friends! I burned a little midnight oil in the alley last night and finished this story. It contains M/f spanking, hanky panky, and some general silliness. If any one of those isn't to your liking, or you're under 18 years old, do NOT move your eye from this spot...* No not THAT spot, THIS spot...@ Better! I hope you like it. ____________________________________ LITTLE RED, RIDING HOOD by MissLilyO "Here, Red, take this basket of goodies to your grandma's house," said Edith. The petite redhead popped her large wad of gum noisily and said, "NaaaahIdonwanna," and turned up the cartoon program she was watching, hoping to drown out Edith's inevitable tirade. Unfortunately, the old Sylvania set was incapable of producing decibels sufficient to that task, and Edith's buzz-saw voice cut easily through the music and sound effects. Just as a coyote-shaped hole splattered into the floor of the canyon and the ever-present "beep-beep" sounded loudly in the living room, Edith said, "Get off your little butt and get over to Grandma's house before she cuts you out of her will!" Positive motivation is a powerful force. Red untangled herself from the couch and grumped over to the table where her mother was putting the finishing touches on Grandma's goodie basket. Idly, Edith scratched her stomach through the threadbare chenille housecoat. "Let's see," she said, "we have a couple of fifths of bourbon, some of those Mallomars she likes, a National Extinguisher with the article about Elvis and those aliens, some diarrhea medicine, a picture of The Last Supper where Jesus' hand moves when it catches the light, and some bunion pads. That oughtta hold the old bat for a day or two." She tucked in a plastic daisy for decorative effect. "I hate going to Grandma's house," whined Red. "She always wants to give me some silly-assed book of poetry to read. She says I oughta IM-prove my mind. 'Sides, she always tries to give me noogies on my scalp. She like to rubbed all the hair off the front of my head." Red had no legitimate worries about that, as she got her nickname from a glorious mane of wild red locks. There was little doubt that in the years to come she'd resemble her mother in shape and temperament, but at 18, she was still an attractive package. Barely 5 feet tall, she had a tight little bottom, jutting breasts on permanent high beam, an 18 inch waist and a rolling gait that could make Pat Buchanan rethink his position on pornography. She and her mother shared a little two-bedroom rancher in a subdivision that had been the young American dream 1959, but had become a 70's nightmare. Now the neighborhood simply waited for a decent burial. The harvest gold shag was threadbare, the avocado fridge and stove were pocked and dull, and the burnt orange countertops were worn through to the plywood in several spots. Edith worked as an accounts receivable clerk for a local trucking company, went out every weekend to a country-western dance club with one of the truckers, and spent the rest of the week glued to Hard Copy and Wheel of Fortune on the tube. Secretly she yearned to go on Wheel as a contestant and win enough for a trip to Mazatlan and a new double- wide mobile home with almond appliances in Leisure Acres Manufactured Home Park. Red had graduated in the last third of her high school class and had gotten a job as a manicurist at Nailed to the Walls in the mall. She saved her most creative work for her own nails, each of which sported a jewel, a flower, a glow-in-the-dark color, or a tiny leather trim. She liked to make the local disco scene two or three nights a week, hang out in the mall on the other nights, and party on the weekends. Adeline Mosely, on the other hand, had married often and with the fifth and last nuptials, married rich. Because Gavin Mosely had taken his blushing bride to Europe, she had now picked up a great deal of continental culture and often chose to sip sherry instead of glug the grog of old. Accommodating to the end, Gavin had quietly dropped dead of a massive coronary a year to the day of his wedding to Adeline, leaving Grandma Mosely a wealthy woman by her family's standards. She indulged herself in gaining additional sophistication by attending literature appreciation classes, getting season tickets to the home town symphony, and going to travelogues at the Senior Center. Edith and Red enjoyed a sort of love-hate relationship with Grandma Mosely, which is to say she loved them and they hated her. They did not appreciate her "high-falutin" airs, and didn't like the way Grandma chided her overweight offspring or gaudy granddaughter about wanting to watch Bowling for Dollars instead of attending a Shakespeare production at the community playhouse. Still, she had provided generously for them in her will and asked only that they come to see her occasionally, a task the younger women placed on a par with swimming waters infested by starving sharks on Feeding Frenzy Fridays. Still, with the practical nature of the truly greedy, they recognized that occasional visits now assured their place in the sun later, and they took turns doing the duty. Since coming into money, Adeline Mosely had developed a independent streak and often surprised even herself with her late- life liberty. She had colored her hair, gotten a face lift, trimmed up at the local gym, opted for a jazzier wardrobe, and discovered an interest in photography. She looked years younger than Edith, truth be told, and enjoyed the speculative looks she aroused in men of a certain age. Imagine her excitement when she attracted the interest of her photography teacher, Phillip Paulsen. Paulsen was a temperamental man in his late thirties who was an artist/photographer and burned with a desire for his work to be recognized. Still, he languished in relative obscurity, earning barely enough to pay his rent and buy equipment by snapping weddings and the portraits of squirming, tear-faced babies, and teaching extension classes at the local community college. He noticed Mrs. Mosely right off and, with his artist's eye, recognized opportunity when it was ready to knock. He praised her work and invited her to a coffee house after class one night to hear a poetry reading and see some of his rather avant-garde pictures on display of the battered brick walls. Soon she began coming to classes in long baggy sweaters with a dog-eared copy of On the Road under her arm. Phillip was a handsome dog, though a bit of a wolf, and turned his considerable charm on high when he was with her. It was not long before he and Adeline had come to know one another in a more Biblical sense, and he became a frequent over-night guest of Red's Grandma, her penchant for noogies notwithstanding. So it was that when Adeline decided to spend the weekend in Carmel at an Author's Appreciation Retreat, Phillip happily volunteered to house-sit for her. He drove her to the airport in his 1958 Cadillac Convertible, the one and only thing of value he owned. It was an amazing example of American opulence--a gleaming white car with red leather custom interior, and white side walls, a huge tailfinned gas- guzzling locomotive. He left the top down when he picked her up, much to Adeline's delight. At the airport gate, he gave her a lingering kiss, drawing the jealous stares of much younger women who ogled his dark, brooding good looks. Once back at Grandma's house, he determined to do some work in her large and sunny backyard on his latest photographic endeavor, the one which he hoped would launch his career as an artiste. Phillip tended to overdramatize a tad, but considered himself to be in his "crimson" phase. He stripped all his clothing off, for he only could do his artistic photography in the nude, and got started. Placing a perfect tomato on the lawn chair and surrounding it with a string of Adeline's pearls, he moved it this way and that until the light was just right. He could already imagine it mounted and matted and adorning a gallery's walls. Next he took a dented Red Flyer, which he had stolen from a yard three blocks away, and filled the red wagon with Adeline's lingerie, tucking the more worn things on the bottom and the several pair of naughty panties and a lacy peignoir on the top. When he had just the look he wanted, he snapped another picture. So it went with a succession of pictures of a broken red vase, a rumpled rose he'd purchased from an orange-sheeted teenager at the airport, a failed attempt with one of Adeline's lipsticks (in Cheerful Cherry) which melted in the sun before he could arrange it just right, and a bottle of strawberry soda clasped by a pair of white opera gloves photographed through silk. His mind soared with possibilities until he was brought crashing back to reality by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Frustrated at the interruption, he hastily grabbed the peignoir from the wagon and threw it around him. "What?!!!" he growled when he threw open the front door impatiently. Little Red had noticed the big white Caddy in the driveway and wondered who Grandma Mosely was visiting with now, but she was certainly unprepared for the sight that greeted her astonished eyes. A tall, handsome older man stood wrapped in a flimsy lace negligee, his dark hair and beard stubble contrasting with the delicate garment, which did little to hide his nakedness. It was her Grandma's robe, one that Red knew Adeline had purchased at Penelope's Puzzle, a lingerie store in the mall. Phillip too was taken aback by the young woman's appearance. She had taken into account the heat of the summer's day and was wearing a pair of white shorts that made her shapely legs seem longer. His eyes followed the lines down to her delicately-turned ankles and impossibly high heels. Sweeping back up, he saw that her halter top could barely contain their rounded contents, the red tips of which were clearly visible through the lightweight white fabric. But it was the glorious cascade of her sensational red hair that quite took his breath away and caused a stirring in his southern hemisphere. In an extraordinary feat of engineering wonderment, the flimsy garment was rent in two by the sudden elevation of his rampant manhood. The young woman gasped in ardent admiration at the proud protuberance that pointed in her direction. "Oh, Grandmaaaaaaaa," she crooned loudly enough to be heard in the next county, "what big....um....what a big.....OH! GRANDMA??!" Aware of the sight they must present to Adeline's neighbor's, Phillip dragged both girl and the basket to which she was attached into the house. "Keep your voice down, for God's sakes, your grandmother isn't here," he told her. "Well where is she, what you have you done with her?" Little Red demanded. "I haven't done anything with her," Phillip said defensively. "Adeline went to Carmel and I'm house-sitting for her for the weekend. Who are you?" "I'm Little Red, her granddaughter," the girl replied, never taking her eyes off the center of Grandma's robe. "I brought the old bag a basket of goodies." "That's not a very nice way to talk about your Grandmother," Phillip said, frowning. While it was true he saw Adeline as a patron of the arts, as well as a meal ticket, he was genuinely fond of the lady and felt called upon to defend her good name. "Like who gives a real ripe rip what you think, Dickbreath," the girl said, with classic dignity. "God, do you seriously EAT with that mouth?" Phillip asked her, but she had turned away from him and was placing the basket on the kitchen countertop. "Don't get all bent out of shape. How come you're wearing Grandma's robe? You a fairy or something." Phillip felt a rush of resentment causing him to blush. "No I'm not a fairy. I am an artist." "An artist, huh. Right. You artsy types always run around in little negligees, do you?" "No, you see, that is...I was....I always work in the nude and I was shooting some photographs in the backyard when you interrupted me." The girl wasn't listening as she had started rummaging around in Grandma's cupboards. "Where is that damn bowl, anyway?" she muttered. "What are you doing?" Phillip demanded. "Looking for Grandma's sugar bowl," replied Red, distractedly. "Grandma always keeps a bunch of cash in this old sugar bowl. While the old bat is gone, I figure I'll just borrow some of it. There's a Super Saturday Savings Sale on a the mall." "You don't have your Grandmother's permission to take anything out of this house," Phillip said, growing more and more agitated with the girl. "Say, is that hair your real color?" He reached out to touch her lovely locks, but Red jerked back out of his way. "Oh no you don't!! Get away from me, you stupid pansy! I don't *do* noogies!" "Listen you snotty little brat, I wasn't going to give you a noogie, I was just going to touch your hair. And I'm not a pansy, I am merely naked. Do you ALways act like such a little beast?" "Who you callin' a beast?" the girl countered. "You're the one hung like a horse around here." Something snapped in Phillip at her rude-mouthed taunts, and before he could check himself, he had grabbed the startled girl and flung her face down over her grandmother's kitchen table. With one hard tug, he had her shorts and panties yanked down to her knees and he lifted his large hand and brought it down with a loud smack on the bared globes of her perfect buttocks. "Yeeeeeeeoooooooow! You stupid son of a bitch! I'm going to call the cops and..." SMACK! He landed another spank, delighted to see his hand print as it began to redden her blank canvas. HERE was artwork! She wailed like a raped ape, but he spanked on, warming up to the activity and giving it the same dedication he gave his art. "Teach you some manners.....see how you like this......call ME a fairy, will you...." he grunted as he worked. The girl's cries took on a new timbre after a while and he could see evidence of spreading moisture in the fiery red thatch that peeked out at him as she thrashed about. Noting that she earned her nickname naturally, he plunged two fingers into the tender slit and found a pool of copious dew. She groaned in ecstasy at his touch and opened her legs for him. But Phillip was in his crimson phase and was too enamored of the lovely hue he was painting on the girl's upraised bottom to stop for anything so distracting as sex. "Your Grandmother's told me what a mean-tempered little tart you are," he told the squirming girl, holding her down roughly with one hand on the small of her back. "If I tell her the names you called her and the fact that you were trying to rip her off while she was gone, she's going to be plenty mad at you." Red was nothing if not calculating, and decided a change in technique was definitely warranted. Going still, she said in a subdued voice, a little less loud than a ruptured rhinoceros, "Grandma would know I'm only kidding, but if it offended you, I'm sorry, okay? Now let me up you, you...um, please let me up." But Phillip wasn't having any of it. "Oh no you don't. You've behaved like a nasty little tyrant and you're going to get what's coming to you. If you take your punishment like you deserve, I won't tell. If not, I'm going to tell Adeline the minute you get home." "You lousy, pansy narc, you," she started. WHACK! "Okay, okay! Just spank me and get it over with." He raised his hand again, and then stopped. "Oh, and there's one more thing. You have to let me take your picture after." "WHAT!!!???" she shrieked. He shook his head to try to clear the ringing in his ears. "I knew you were a..a...PREvert!" "I am NOT a pre..I mean a pervert," he said, angrily. "I'm an artist. I'm going to be famous and make a lot of money and if I take your picture, you'll be famous too and maybe even get a screen test or something." This somewhat mollified the wiggling wench, and her mind raced. She thought of Cindy Crawford, Brooke Shields, and other photogenic females who'd gotten film careers out of having their pictures taken. This thought coupled with her fears that he'd queer her inheritance by ratting her out to Grandma caused her to settle down. With an almost imperceptible upthrust of her pinkened asscheeks, she gave tacit blessing for him to continue. Like any artist seeing the panorama of possibilities presented to him with her perfect posterior, he proceeded to paddle her. He was gifted, to be sure, and found he had a real love of the spanking arts. He began anew with his hand, striking the smooth surface of her cheeks, enjoying how they flattened and replumped with each blow. He was a good painter, covering the white spots with deepening pinks. "Stay right there," he told her. He went to the countertop next to Grandma's stove and selected a wide wooden spatula, popping it experimentally a few times into his hand. Little Red looked over her shoulder in alarm at the sound, and screeched, "Noooooooooooo!" However, Phillip was beyond being moved by her cries of protest and swung the spatula in a well-aimed arc, connecting resoundingly with her sit spot. "YeeeeeeeoOOOOWWWWW!" she yelled. The heat went from intense to white-hot as he blazed her buttocks with the wooden implement. Her hips bucked, and she writhed on the table top so violently that her halter top rode up, exposing her magnificent mammaries to his gluttonous gaze. Seeing that he had taken "rising to the occasion" to state of the art proportions, Phillip suddenly cast aside the spatula and grabbed the girl's ripe breasts as an anchor, positioned his rampant lance at the entrance to her red-tufted sheath, and rammed himself homeward. She was more than ready for him, and cried out her pleasure as he slammed into her to the hilt. The girl had a pair of lungs to be sure, and unbeknownst to the lovers as they moved in noisy concert, Mrs. Ainsworthy's LaLique crystal vase shattered next door when Little Red reached the apogee of her climax. The two lay panting, he sprawled on top of her across Grandma Mosely's table. The afternoon was young, and so was Little Red, and she soon saw the wisdom of succumbing to several more sessions of bottom-burning spankings followed by ground- (not to mention glass-) breaking sexual encounters at the hands and other extremities of the hungry wolf in Grandma's clothing. At last, as the afternoon light began to color the sky a deep vermilion , Red agreed to allow the artist to snap her picture. When it was done, Phillip kissed Little Red thoroughly, gave her $100 as a posing fee (which he'd borrowed from Grandma Mosely's sugar bowl), and sent the well-spanked lass on her way. Later that year, with sweet Adeline at his side, Phillip smiled and glad-handed the awe-struck patrons of the arts who had gathered at the stylish gallery party in his honor. The critics applauded the unveiling of "A Study in Scarlet" as the birth of an important new talent, and a showing in New York had been arranged through the good efforts of the local gallery owner and not a little dusting of cash by Grandma Mosely. Little Red did not get a film career, but she was voted Employee of the Month at the Nailed to the Walls shop, and got a two-paragraph write-up about it in the Mall Mouth, the little newspaper distributed to the shopowners and employees. Phillip took the art world by storm when "A Study in Scarlet" hit the Big Apple. Most talked about was the centerpiece of his collection, a stunning photograph of a block-long white Cadillac with an interesting ornament on its front. There for all the world to see was that flawless fanny, turned a rich ruby red by her hard spankings. The upturned bottom was artfully framed by little white shorts pulled down to the crook of her dimpled knees below, and her tumbling red locks spilling around her back and shoulders above. The setting sun had cast a sanguine glow reflected in the surface of the car. While her face was obscured by the cascade of hair, one red-tipped titty was visible, as was the pouting slit surrounded by its crown of little red curls. The artist had draped the girl over the front of the car, her feet on the generous chrome bumper, her hands extended over the gleaming white expanse of the top of the luxury auto. The title was etched in gold lettering right next to the $100,000 price tag on the center display in the toney gallery: "Little Red, Riding Hood" The End MissLilyO@aol.com)