The Score

“Show me the way to go home!” bawled the wolf.

“I’m tired and I wanna go ta bed!” sang Red Riding Hood.

“Phwoar, do ya?” the wolf leered and groped her arse.

“Nah, I just invited my back ta my place fer COFFEE!” Red Riding Hood giggled. God, this man was a twat, and a predictable one.


Roger paused in the bedroom doorway and whistled.

“Video camera? I think I hooked me a live one!”

“Well…” purred Rosie, moving closer and putting her hands on his chest, “sometimes I like to watch! Over and over and over again…”

“Oh, do you? Why not just do it over and over and over again instead? Haven’t you found a man with real stamina?”

“No, they always seem to drop out after a round or two…” she pouted cutely, reaching sideways to press a button.

He slid his arms further around her and planted his hands firmly on her arse.

“Weaklings. I’ll show you how a real man does it.”

“Can’t wait!”

He picked her up, threw her on the bed, and started to undress.

“Oi! Leave the mask on, wolfy!”


Three hours later, Red Riding Hood rolled onto her back and sighed, exhausted. Roger lay beside her, eyes glazed.

Wolfy hadn’t been lying – he really did have the stamina of an ox. They’d fucked three times before he’d started to flag, and he’d still had the energy to put up a helluva fight.

Red Riding Hood licked a smear of blood from the back of her hand and smiled. She rose, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at the video camera.

“History always repeats, but there are always variations,” she told it, “once again, the Wolf ate Red Riding Hood… and then Red Riding Hood evened the score.”


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