Tuesday 17 September 2013

A Fairy Tale - of sorts

Mainly written by me with a little help with some online friends. - Boohoo, Misty, and Japan.

Um ..... it's a bit surreal .....

Monday morning, and Little Red Riding Hood was feeling really pissed off again because her Mummy had just smacked her bum with her slipper for being bratty.  “FFS”, she moaned.  Why was it always HER job to go and take the gin over to Grandma?   Why couldn’t her stupid useless brother Georgie Porgie be told to do it instead?

“It isn’t fair!” she grumbled, rubbing her sore bottom ruefully; being very careful to ensure that Mother didn’t overhear hear what she said in case she got another whacking.

LRRH hated Grandma, who lived miles away on the other side of the forest.  She was a bad-tempered old cow who smelt of stale tobacco, pickled onions and stale piss.  To make matters worse, she always insisted on hugging and kissing her “favourite granddaughter” (she only had one anyway), in a most affectionate manner. 

It wasn’t only that which was putting LRRH off.   She would have to pass by the Big Bad Wolf’s house on the way and he was certain to invite her inside to inspect his stamp collection.  Then he would want to pull her knickers down and finger her pussy.  In all the times she had been in there, he never ever actually got his stamp album out; in fact she sometimes doubted that he owned any stamps at all. 

There was, however, some compensation, because after she had played with his willy and administered one of her very best blowjobs, he would slip her a half-crown to buy sweeties with.  The main problem was that all this tended to make her late in getting to Grandma’s house, which meant that the old trout would likely be in a foul mood and take a cane to her arse.  And Granny knew how to use a cane – by Christ didn’t she ever!

Anyway, there was nothing to be done but take the gin over there, or she would get another good slippering from Mummy.  Taking her hand out of her knickers and smoothing out her skirts, she picked up the basket and trotted off down the garden path, exited by way of the gate and stepped smartly down the lane towards the woods.

“ … and don’t go pissing about with those Goblins from the village!”  She heard her mother’s voice shouting after her.

“No, Mummy – I will be good!”  She called back smirking conspiratorially, once she had turned the corner.  LRRH grimaced a bit as she strode along; her arse was still tingling from the slippering that she had just gotten.  Actually – she quite enjoyed the sting that the slipper delivered, and she discovered that she was in fact a little wet in the ladies’ area between her legs.

Having crossed the lane, she was about to turn on to the woodland path when there was a mighty screech of tyres and brakes behind her.  A yellow car appeared suddenly and slid to a halt alongside.  There were two occupants – a fat gnome with a long white beard and a little chap with a round nose, who was wearing a blue pointy hat with a bell on it.

“Hello Darlin’!” said the gnome, all matey like in a rustic dialect.  “Where be you a-goin then?”

“None of your business Big Ears!” replied LRRH testily.  “Why don’t you fuck off and suck a goblin’s dick?  Who is the poof in the silly hat sitting next to you?”

“Why this is Little Noddy.” replied Big Ears.  “He is my best mate.  Do you fancy coming for a ride over to Toytown with us – the Teddybears is having a picnic and there is bound to be some good shit to smoke!”

LRRH thought about it for a moment or two.  It was tempting - those Teddybears’ picnics were fun.  But she remembered what her mother had said about getting into cars with strangers and shook her head.

“Sorry, I can’t today.  I have to go take this booze over to Grandma before she freaks out and goes loopy with withdrawal symptoms – fucking old bag! Have you got any beer to spare?”

Big Ears shook his head.  “No sorry.  We have only got a dozen cans of Special Brew  left and that will hardly be enough to last us until mid-afternoon.  Why don’t you ask the Big Bad Wolf – he lives on the way you are going.  I heard he makes gallons of home-brew in his shed.”

“Yes I reckon I will,” said LRRH.  “My throat is as parched as a rhino’s chuff!  Can you get me some weed from the Teddybears’ place please?   I have almost run out.  I will let you suck my pussy?”

“Got the dosh then? “ asked Big Ears.  “Their stuff doesn’t come cheap you know.”

“You won’t need any,” LRRH assured him.  “They owe me for fencing some of their knocked-off jewellery the other day.  Say the stuff is for me and they will give you some too.  Just make sure it’s the good stuff though, and not the cheap crap they sell in the toilets by the kids’ playground.  You can leave it under the flowerpot by our shed.  Be careful that my dad doesn’t see you or he will pinch it and smoke it himself.”

“Right ho!” said Big Ears.  “Come on Noddy or we will miss the goat-shagging contest.  Fancy another beer?” 

Noddy nodded enthusiastically and ripped open the proffered can, taking a noisy swig as he engaged gear and let out the clutch.

Big Ears shot LRRH a parting glance.  “Bye then Darlin’ – catch you later.  You be good now!”

With that they roared off in a cloud of exhaust and tyre smoke, leaving LRRH coughing and spluttering in their wake.

“Fucking crackheads!”  she muttered after them, throwing them a two-fingered salute as she turned on to the path that led to the forest.  Soon she was in the woodland.  It was a lovely summer day and presently she started to whistle a tune she knew.

Then – as she entered a clearing – she came face to face with half a dozen rough-looking Goblins from the council estate in Toytown.  They leered through broken teeth as she came into view …..

“Why hello Little Red Riding Hood ,” beamed Spotty Dick.  “We was a-hoping you would come along!  Are you going to take your clothes off voluntarily or do we have to take ‘em from you like last time?”

Little Red Riding Hood felt her 'fanny' pump with delight, six of em!  Well she was far more used to taking on double that!

She stuck her nose up as she trotted past, pretending to ignore them, as Mummy had warned her about their 'mucky germs'!   She knew them all by name of course:  'Spotty Dick' as his dick was covered in 'spots' and 'puss', 'Limp Dick' as the only thing he could rise was his 'tongue' and he had a long bugger!  'Soppy Dick' as it was constantly dripping with donkey 'cum'!  Clever Dick, as he was clever and could piss in the air so high that he could drink it....and he often did.  'Dirty Twat' aka 'No Dick' as he had no dick (the rumour was his Ma had wanted a girl and sliced it off with a razor blade!)  And finally 'Big Dick' – yep you guessed - it was f**king massive and had won him the 'big-dick' trophy at the Toytown fete since he was two years old!

LRRH was soooo excited!  Bugger grandma, why does she have to soak her false teeth in gin?  She felt a warm creamy plop in her knickers.  No, she hadn't 'shat' herself...she was preparing her fanny for action!

The Goblins converged on her all at once and pretty soon she felt her clothes being stripped off and scattered in all directions.  She put up a token “fight” of course, as she always did, but there were too many of them and in any case, she didn’t want to frighten them off.

“Ooooh!  Unhand me you filthy beasts,” she squealed unconvincingly, as she felt “Big Dick” climbing on top of her and slipping his monster inside her palpitating vagina.  “Oooooh!  Ooooooh!  Ooooooh!  Yes! Yes!  Yesssssssssssssssss!”

“Here little girl – try some of this!”  the voice came from somewhere above her head, immediately followed by  a sickly sweet but by no means unpleasant taste of sugar in her mouth.

Oh God!  What had they given her now?  Her head started to swim as the trees overhead whirled around and she slipped into delirium.


Suddeny she woke up, and she was in the woods - alone.  All of the Goblins had vanished and she had thumping headache, which felt as though a man with a sledgehammer was trying to break out or her skull.  She knew that she should not have tried some of Spotty Dick’s little pills, but curiosity had gotten the better of her as it often did.  She never seemed to be able to say “No”.  It was one of her little weaknesses.

What a bizarre dream that had been! That Wizard had looked distinctly like one of the gorillas from the town zoo.  And the old witch with the cane – she was somehow familiar as well.   As for T. Bone Toothpickins ………. words failed her.

How long had she been passed out?  It was difficult to say; probably an hour or so.  The sun had moved around in the sky and the shadows were slightly longer now.   Her clothes had all come off and were scattered about the clearing.  The first thing to be done was to collect them up and get dressed again.  Alas her knickers were missing and nowhere to be seen.  They had probably been nicked by one of the Goblins for a souvenir.

“Pervy fuckers”, she thought to herself.  God knows how she would explain it to Grandma.  The old bat would cane her arse for sure now that she was going to be late.  She would just have to lie and say that the elastic had broken, and that they had fallen off along the path without her noticing.  It was a pretty lame excuse by her standards, but it was all she could think of for the moment.

Fortunately the Goblins had not taken her basket with the gin in it.  Even they knew better than to run off with Grandma’s booze.  She hadn’t risen to be Godmother of the Forest Mafia by playing tiddlywinks.

LRRH started off down the path once more, feeling distinctly sore of both arse and fanny.  Those goblins had been pretty enthusiastic in their advances, as per usual.  Most of them were hung like donkeys which was why she found them so attractive.

It felt strange to be walking about without any knickers on.  The breeze billowing up her dress was making the damp areas around her crotch and arse crack feel pretty chilly.  She made a mental note that she would have to see the doc for one of his “morning after” tablets, since The Goblins clearly had not thought to use condoms and she had forgotten to take her own contraceptive pills that morning.  It would mean a visit to the clap clinic on Thursday as well - just to be sure.  One could never be too careful.

A mile or so down the path and she came to the Big Bad Wolf’s house.  She expected to find him lounging outside on the porch leering at the passers-by, as was his custom.  Normally his absence would have been a bonus, but not today.  LRRH was gasping for a smoke and a drink so there was nothing to be done but knock on his door.  However, it would appear that he was not at home.  There was no answer.

LRRH tried the door handle and found that the door was unlocked.  No real surprise because anybody who went in his house was simply asking to be gobbled up; he had nothing worth thieving anyway.  She pushed the door open and called out.

“Hello! Mr Wool-fie! Are you there?”

There was no reply so she stepped inside. He must be out dogging or something, although perhaps not? The plastic mac and trilby hat, which he usually wore for such activities, were still hanging on the peg in the hallway. The place smelt musty and there was a thick layer of dust atop all of the furniture.  Mr Wolf was plainly not house-proud.  LRRH envied him – it must be wonderful not to have to do housework if you didn’t want to.  Mummy always made her do her share of household chores and spanked her if she as much as sniffed her disapproval.

“Oh well,” she thought. “I will just check the refrigerator to see if there is any beer in there.  He must owe me a few bottles by now after all the favours I do for him.”

So LRRH went into the kitchen and checked the fridge but unfortunately there was no beer; just a load of salad items – lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, cucumber – stuff like that. “That’s odd.” she thought to herself. “I hadn’t put Mr Wolf down for a vegetarian?”

Shutting the refrigerator door, she wandered around to see if there was somewhere else where he was hiding his beer.  He was sure to have some.  She opened a couple of cupboards but they were full of tinned dog food.  

Then she found his pantry and struck lucky, for all along the shelves were stone jars which had cork stoppers in the top.  Choosing one at random she pulled out the stopper and sniffed the contents. Eureka! That was more like it. Best bitter unless she was mistaken.  She lifted the neck to her lips and quaffed down about a pint and a half in one go.


“That’s better,” she said to herself. “I bloody needed that! I wonder where the silly old fart is? Oh well, I can’t piss about here all day; I have to get over to Grandma’s pretty damned quick or I will be in deep shit.”

Suddenly, from somewhere above her head, Little Red Riding Hood heard a meowing noise.  Looking up she saw that, on the branch of an overhanging oak tree, was a large grinning cat.

“Good afternoon” it said in a sing-song sort of way that cats have.  “Where are you going then?”

LRRH glared up at the creature, none too pleased for yet another interruption.

“Oh – I thought I would just nip off down to London and seek my fortune in one of the massage parlours!”  she replied, a touch sarcastically.  “Do you happen to know of any good ones I could try?  You look like the sort of twat that would!  And what the fuck are you grinning at?  You look like one of Farmer Brown’s cows after the bull has made its rounds”

The cat’s grin grew even wider.

“I am the Cheshire Cat.” it said imperiously.  “I am supposed to grin – it’s expected.  And please note that it’s “cat” and not “twat” if you wouldn’t mind.   I would respectfully point out that there is a distinct difference.  “Cats” are furry domestic pets whereas “twats”, although often furry, are something completely different in character.”

“I know what a “twat” is you dickhead!” replied LRRH.  “I’ve seen more twats in my time than there are flies around a tinker’s arsehole.    Now if you don’t mind I’m busy.  I don’t suppose you know where I can get hold of a spare pair of knickers around here?  I have managed to mislay mine.”

CC scratched his chin thoughtfully.  He was used to girls’ brattishness.

“You could try the Three Bears’ place.” he suggested.  “They usually have some washing out to dry.”

“What?”  gasped LRRH, incredulously.  “Do you take me for a total fucking dinny?  Mamma Bear is so chuffing fat they had to have special doors fitted to their cottage so that she could get in and out.  Her stuff would never fit me.  I heard tell that the boy scouts use one of her dresses for a mess tent at their summer camp!”

“No!  No!  No!” laughed the cat.  “Not her’s – try their son’s – his panties should fit you okay.  He likes to dress up in girly things – he’s a bit odd like that.  With a bit of luck you will be able to pinch one of his dresses as well – it looks like you could do with a clean one.”

LRRH tossed her head dismissively.

“Not my fault!” she asserted combatively. “It was the Goblins.  I am a good girl – you know I am!”

Yes quite!” nodded TCC.  “I never suggested that you were not - did I?”

“No – and you better not either  - or I will kick you in the bollocks.  That would wipe the silly smile off your face.  Now: which way is the bears’ place please?  I may as well check it out.  They may have some spare food lying about as well  – smoking the Goblins’ broccoli has left me feeling distinctly peckish”

“It’s down there; the third turning on the left.”  motioned CC with his head.  “With a bit of luck they won’t all be there!  I heard that the Mad Hatter is throwing a tea-party this afternoon.”

“Ha ha!  Nobody is “all there” in this story!” giggled LRRH.  “Especially that bloody Mad Hatter and his idiot mate the March Hare.   And don’t even get me started on that twat of a Dormouse!  Right – see you later Mr Cat.  Thanks for the helpful advice.  You can lick my arse on my way back if you like?”

And with that she was on her way again – not noticing that her offer had replaced the broad grin on the cat’s face with a screwed up expression of distinct distaste at the prospect of putting his tongue anywhere remotely  near her arse.  He made a mental note not to be there when she returned, just in case she hadn’t been joking.

Meanwhile LRRH was enroute to visit the Three Bears.  Sure enough, the third turning on the left took her to a neat whitewashed cottage, which had a thatched roof, and which was surrounded by a pretty garden. 

Ignoring little white gate and the path up the front door, LRRH skirted around to the back and popped her head cautiously over the wooden fence.  The back door of the cottage was open but there didn’t appear to be anybody about.  There was a line of washing hanging out to dry.  She could see a couple of blue gingham dresses similar to her own and some frilly panties which looked like they might be about her size.

“Hello!” she called out.  “Is anybody there?”

There was no answer.  It looked as if the Three Bears might indeed be out.  So much the better!  Pulling her dress snuggly into her crotch area so as to avoid getting splinters in her pussy, LRRH slid quietly over the fence and dropped into the garden below, where she crouched stealthily behind some rhubarb plants.

“So far, so good.” she thought to herself, a little breathlessly.  She was panting and there was a wonderfully exhilarating sense of tension in her tummy.   Pinching stuff was exciting – almost as thrilling as bending over for a dose of Grandma’s cane!

There was still no sign of life so she padded across to the open kitchen door and looked inside.  There was the usual kitchen furniture and an iron cooking range with a cooking pot simmering on the top.  In the centre of the flagstone floor was a strong oaken table with three chairs.  On top of the table were three steaming bowls of porridge.

“Mmmmmm!”  LRRH licked her lips hungrily.  Porridge was her favourite.  In an instant she was over to the table, dipping a spoon into the biggest bowl, and shovelling it into her gob.

“Uuggh!” she went, almost immediately, and spitting it out again.  Salt!  The fucking philistines had put salt in it!  “Geezus!”

Unperturbed she tried the porridge in the second bowl, but that was far too hot.  Then she tried the third bowl, which was the smallest, but it had sugar and jam in it - just perfect.  She finished the whole bowlful and sat down satisfied on the little chair, which unfortunately was too small for her.  It gave way under her weight with a splintering crack, so that she ended up on the floor with a loud bump.
“Fuck it!” she screamed and kicked the broken chair angrily across the kitchen.  Then she remembered that she was not in her own home and listened anxiously to ascertain whether or not anybody had heard her.  But there was silence, apart from the ticking of an ancient grandfather clock in the hallway.  It seemed as though she had the cottage to herself. 
Gingerly she crept down the hall and began to climb the staircase.
At the top of the narrow wooden staircase with its rustic elegant rails was a passageway with four doors leading off of it.  LRRH tried the first door and found it to be the bathroom.  The next was a twin bedroom – presumably belonging to Mama and Papa Bear.  The third was another bedroom, which contained a much smaller bed with lots of toy dolls and girls’ clothing scattered around.  The fourth was some kind of utility room with a spanking bench and whips.  On another time occasion, LRRH would like to have explored the latter more thoroughly, but she was a bit pressed for time.
Returning to the master bedroom, she had a good ferret around, helping herself to the odd trinket or two in the process, before trying out the beds.  The biggest one was too hard and lumpy; it was obviously Papa Bear’s.  The second was far too soft; it had a huge depression in the middle and must have belonged to Mama.  LRRH didn’t like either one very much, so she went next door into what must have been Baby Bear’s room.
His bed was much more comfy.  She stretched out on it while she took in her surroundings.  The wallpaper was a pretty yellow floral design and the curtains were green.  Her eyelids started to droop and she began to nod off, only to be awakened with a start as the front door of the cottage opened and was slammed shut.  Down below she heard voices.  The Bears had obviously returned and she was trapped upstairs.
“Fuck a duck!” she exclaimed in a panic.  “If they catch me here I’m dead meat – they will have me in the spanking room for sure!”  She looked around desperately for an avenue of escape.  Shit – the only way out was by the stairs.  What the hell could she do?
Downstairs the Three Bears hung up their coats and went into the kitchen.
“Hello!  hello!  hello!  roared Papa Bear.  “Who’s been eating my porridge?”
“Someone has been eating mine too!” said Mama Bear.
“And some fucking bastard has been and gobbled mine all up, AND smashed my fucking chair as well!” howled Baby Bear.
Mama and Papa Bear looked at him in horror.  When Mama spoke she was very angry.
“You mind your fucking language, potty-mouth!” she hissed.  “I’m fed up with telling you off for fucking swearing.”   Turning to her husband she said:  “Well – aren’t you do something about it then, you great useless piece of shit?  Your son Rupert needs to be taught a lesson in manners!”
“I beg your pardon?  My name isn’t Rupert – it’s Fiona-Jane!”  interjected Baby Bear.  I am fed up with constantly having to remind you two twats about that!  I’m a girlie FFS!”
“Since when do “girlies” have a penis and a pair of bollocks?” rasped an exasperated Mama.  “Your name is Rupert and there is something seriously wrong with you sonny-boy.  I blame your father!”
“How the fuck is it my fault?” asked PB indignantly.
“Who said I was talking about you Dicksplash?  To be honest I am not sure who is father is.” replied MB.  “Now are you going to give the little prat a taste of your belt or what?”
“Too bloody right!” growled Pop, unbuckling his belt menacingly.  “Now get your arse over the table Girly-boy – dress up and knickers down.  Mama you hold his wrists.  I’m going to give you a damned good thrashing boy!”
“For fuck’s sake!  It’s not fair!” protested Rupert (aka Fiona-Jane) as he found himself unceremoniously stretched across the table.  “Why am I always the one to get belted?”
“You ain’t!”  replied Pop.  “Your Mama gets it good too when you are in Sunday school!  Hold him still Queenie, while I make pretty patterns on his arse!”
He then proceeded to fold the belt in two and to give Baby a good blistering with it.
“Oooowwwww!   Oooooooooh!” screamed Rupert/Fiona.  “I will get the social services on to you two bastards.  I will be better off with you in prison, and me having to live with the Wicked Stepmother.  Oowwwwww!”
Pretty soon his arse was a rash of criss-crossed red marks which made it resemble a raspberry ripple ice-cream.
“Right,” said PB, ignoring the protests.  “Now get your sorry arse upstairs – you can go to bed without any supper!”

“B –but I’m hungry – and it’s only lunchtime!” squealed Rupert, clutching his bum through the material of his dress.

“You should have thought about that before!” asserted PB.  “Now get up them fucking stairs before I give you another fifty licks!”

“…. not fair!” grumbled Baby, as he flounced out of the kitchen and started up the stairs.

“Oh shit!” thought Little Red Riding Hood as she heard him coming. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”

She ran back inside the small bedroom, looking around in a panic for somewhere to hide.  The bed was too low to get under, the wardrobe too small to get into.  Desperately she picked up a discarded cricket bat and hid behind the door, pressing herself flat against the wall.

There were footsteps outside, the door was kicked open and Rupert entered, still clutching his bum and rubbing it hard.  He no sooner had petulantly slammed the door shut than LRRH had him in a head lock, clasping her hand firmly over his mouth before he could scream for help.

“Now listen to me you little twat,” she hissed.  “You better do as you’re told or I will shove this cricket bat so far up your jacsky you will think you have been to Cardinal Puff’s Christmas party – comprendo?”

Through goggle eyes, and almost shitting himself with fright, all that Rupert could do was nod in mute acquiescence.

Little Red Riding Hood grunted her approval.

“Okay Sunbeam – we understand each other.  Now I need your dress and knickers so get ‘em off.  Be quick about it too, or I may change my mind about being nice and I cut your bollocks off with a rusty nail file.  Then you will be able to find out what being a girl really feels like – like needing to sit down in order to have a piss and having to queue to use the public toilets.”

Baby Bear didn’t like the sound of that and he fumbled with the buttons of his gingham dress as he hurried to comply.

“P-please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered.  “And my name is Fiona-Jane if you don’t mind.  I was trapped in this body by the Wicked Witch when she caught me scrumping apples in her orchard.”

“Yes, yes!” hissed  LRRH impatiently.  “If you say so!  Frankly, I don’t give a shit what your name is.  Hurry up!”

Rupert whipped his hands up his skirts and pulled down the knickers in one swift movement.  Then he wriggled out of the dress and handed it over.

“May I keep my petticoat on please?” he begged.  “It’s my favourite one.  There are others in the chest of drawers over there.”  He pointed to the white painted wooden chest on the other side of the room.

Red Riding gave the request some thought.  It was a pretty petticoat, and if it kept the little shit quiet to keep it on, then all well and good.

“Yes alright.  Provided you behave yourself.  Now lie face-down on the bed with your hands behind your back so’s I can tie you up good and tight.  I don’t want you running around and hollering “burglar” when I make good my escape.”

Rupert beamed and eagerly did as he was told.  He secretly enjoyed being tied up after a good spanking and often did it to himself.  It was fun as far as it went, but obviously not as good as the real thing.  Now he was going to be bound and gagged for real!  Yummy!  His dick was standing so proud that it almost hurt.

LRRH picked up two skipping ropes and soon had her captive trussed up like a Sainsbury’s oven-ready Turkey.  He was positively cooing with delight and, when she looked under the hood, he had a little dewdrop already formed on the end of his helmet.

“Will you come and play with me again tomorrow?” Rupert asked.  “This is fun!  What is your name by the way?”

“Fucking Goldilocks!” said LRRH as she stuffed his own panties into his mouth and tied them in with a handkerchief.   “Right that should hold you for a couple of hours.  I hope you don’t need to have a piss or your bed is going to get wet and stink a bit.”

“Mmmmmph!   Mmmmmmmph!” said Rupert.

LRRH paid him no attention as she selected a new pair of knickers from his underwear drawer and then slipped his dress on.  It was a very good fit.  The Cheshire Cat deserved a reward for suggesting it.  She stood in front of the mirror, admiring herself, turning her body first to the left and then to the right as she smoothed her skirt out, making sure that her slip wasn’t showing.  Apparently satisfied with the result, she turned her mind to the question of escape.

Having transferred the contents of the pockets of her own dress to the ‘borrowed” one, she moved purposefully past Rupert on the bed.   He was wriggling in a most animated fashion, gurgling contentedly.   It sounded like he was about to orgasm.  Reaching the door, she paused to listen for movement outside.  Hearing nothing, she twisted the handle, carefully pulled the door open, and stepped softly out on to the landing. 

Down below, she could hear the slap of a leather belt against soft buttock flesh, accompanied by little murmured female grunts of approval.  Papa Bear had apparently decided that Mama Bear was due a goodly dose of the old leather herself, and he was happily obliging.  They were apparently still in the kitchen, which was LRRH’s avenue of escape.  She needed a diversion.

Looking around, her eyes alighted on a large brown decorative vase standing on a table at the end of the passage.  It had an enormous aspidistra growing in it.  Behind it was a large picture window, which she judged must be immediately above the Bears’ front door.  That ought to do the job. 

Still keeping an ear on the proceedings in the kitchen, she tiptoed down the corridor towards it and picked it up.  It was very heavy.   Drawing a deep breath, she paused for balance and then hurled it through the window, hearing it crash down on to the porch below amid the tinkling of smashed glass.

There was a brief moment of silence as the bears in the kitchen stopped what they were doing and tried to make sense of what they had just heard.

“What the fuck was that?”  asked Papa.

“How the fuck do I know?” replied his wife.  “It sounded like it came from outside on the porch.  You better take the shotgun and take a look.  It might be them bloody Gyppos from down the road.  The thieving bastards are always up to something.”

“Yes – I reckon you could be right!” growled Papa, snatching the twelve-bore from the corner, and heading towards the front door.  Meanwhile his wife picked up a broom and followed him close behind.

When he got to the front door, without hesitating, Papa Bear flung it open and rushed out, yelling obscenities and indiscriminately loosing off both barrels as he did so.  Then, having ascertained that nobody was there, he came to a halt, gawping in astonishment at the smashed aspidistra vase.

“How the fuck did that get there?” they both asked each other in unison, looking upward in bewilderment towards the smashed first-floor window.  

Whilst they were trying to make sense of the situation, Little Red Riding Hood seized her chance.  She glided swiftly down the staircase and out through the kitchen without being noticed.  Soon she was over the fence, reunited with her basket, and running down the path as fast as her legs would carry her.

“Shit!” she wheezed when she finally felt safe enough to slow down.  “That was bloody exciting!  Fuck a duck - I must be well-late by now!” 

She looked down at her newly acquired pocket watch.  It was two o’clock.  Grandma would skin her alive.

Still, it was not too far to Grandma’s house now and, what the hell, she fancied a good caning anyway.  It was always the same after she had been naughty.  On the one hand she felt exhilarated by the danger; the wickedness of doing wrong, but on the other she felt guilty and needed to be caught and punished.  It was a paradox to be sure.

She was reflecting upon this and thinking about the events at the bears’ place when another girl came walking towards her from the opposite direction.  The two girls were strikingly similar in appearance, being of about the same height and build, even wearing similar dresses.  In fact, the only immediate dissimilarity, apart from facial features, was that the newcomer had lighter hair.  She smiled as she approached Little Red Riding Hood.

“Good afternoon!” she said brightly.  “My name is Goldilocks and I was wondering if you could direct me to an inn or somewhere where I can get some hot porridge and a bed for the night?  I have been walking all day and I am very, very tired.

“Pleased to meet you I’m sure!” answered Little Red Riding Hood sweetly.  “Yes – I think I can help you.  If you carry on down the path for a half a mile or so, you take the first turning you come to on the right and that will take you to the Three Bears house.  If you ask them for some of their delicious porridge, and if they would let you can stay in their “guest” room for the night, then I am sure they will oblige.”

“Why thank you very much ….um ….. I didn’t catch your name?”

“You can call me “Snow White” if you like!” replied LRRH.  “Or Veronica - I don’t really mind which.”

Goldilocks smiled again.

“I am very pleased to meet you Snow White.  I shall go to the Three Bears straight away.  I hope that they won’t mind me turning up unannounced.  Is their porridge really that good?”

“Oh yes indeed – it’s the best.  Just make sure you ask for plenty of sugar and jam on it.  Oh and one last thing, the lady of the house is a keen gardener and she particularly likes aspidistras.  If you mention them to her you will likely get an especially warm welcome!”

“Why yes indeed I shall!” beamed Goldilocks.  “I happen to be a fan of aspidistras myself as a matter of fact.  Well must go.  I can see that you must be busy.”

“Yes I am a bit.  I am just taking some lemonade over to my Uncle Jim.  Enjoy your day.”

With a final wave of goodbye, the two girls parted company; Goldilocks smiling innocently and LRRH (aka “Snow White”, aka “Veronica” -  in fact her name was Katherine) smirking wickedly.  What she would give to be a fly on the wall at the bears’ place in a few minutes time!

Not far to go to Grandma’s now.  Little Red Riding Hood quickened her pace as she climbed the final hill.  She was looking forward to a sit-down – while she was still able to – but there was to be one final interruption on her journey.

At the crest of the hill, sitting under a shady beech tree was her best friend Alice, who was busily sucking on a lollypop.  She greeted LRRH with a cheery wave.

“Hello Fuckface!” she said.  “How is your arse today?  Still itching is it?”

“No – I got some cream from the chemist and it cleared up.” retorted LRRH.  “Bloody good stuff too – would you like some?   It works for all sorts of vaginal rashes.  Can I have a lick of your lollypop?”

“You will have to wait your turn.” replied Alice.  “It’s engaged at the moment.”

She pointed downwards and LRRH noticed that instead of the normal two legs sticking out of the bottom of her dress,  Alice appeared to have four:  Two of them were clearly her own, and two were apparently attached to somebody hiding under her skirts.

“Christopher Robin.” said Alice in response to LRRH’s quizzical expression.

“What’s he doing in there?” asked LRRH, somewhat surprised at the spectacle before her.

 “Fellatio of course.  He is a dab hand at munching the muff and no mistake!”

“Oh – okay.  Actually I meant a lick of the lolly in your gob, not the one between your legs!” clarified LRRH.  “I have had enough excitement for one day – notwithstanding an upcoming audience with Grandma’s cane!  I am just going to see her now.   In fact I better get my arse down there right away.  I don’t suppose you have seen the Big Bad Wolf have you?  He normally stalks me and I haven’t seen hide or hair of him today.  I don’t like it when I can’t see what he is up to.”

Alice shook her head.  “He is probably out terrorising the Three Little Piggies or exposing himself to Little Bo Peep’s sheep.”  she suggested, her eyes rolling ecstatically as Christopher Robin brought her to the vinegar strokes.  “Oooooh!  Oooooooh!  Aaaaaargh!  Yes!  God yes!  Mmmmmmmmmmggggh….!”

Little Red Riding Hood shook her head enviously and left them to it.  Alice was right about Christopher Robin as she knew from experience.  He was lousy conversationalist, but second to none when it came to “chewing the cherry”.

At the bottom of the hill she reached Grandma’s house, opened the little gate and walked up the path.  The front door was already open – the old trout was clearly expecting her.

Taking a deep breath, she sauntered in as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“Hello!” she called out.  “It’s your favourite granddaughter come to see you.  I‘ve brought you some nice gin.  Where are you Poppet?”

There was no reply.  That’s odd thought LRRH.  I wonder where she is?  As soon as I mention “gin” she is normally out like a shot.   Maybe she is in bed asleep?  Deciding that was probably the most likely explanation she climbed the stairs and walked into Grandma’s bedroom.  The curtains were drawn and it was quite dark in there.

Oh dear – the old girl was there alright, but she looked most unwell, and it looked as though she hadn’t shaved for a fortnight.  But she was wide awake, so that was a positive sign.  Little Red Riding Hood could not resist commenting.

“Grandma what a big nose you have!”

Grandma’s nose twitched.

“All the better to smell with my dear.  Come closer and let me enjoy the fragrance of your perfume.”

“And Grandma – what big eyes you have!” exclaimed LRRH

“All the better to see you wriggle when I cane your bottom my dear!” said Grandma

“Grandma – what big ears you have!”

“All the better to hear you scream for mercy my dear!” said Grandma, throwing back the bedcovers and putting her feet into her slippers.

“Ooooh Grandma – what a big cane you have!”

“All the better to whack your bum with, my dear!”

And oooooh Grandma what a big penis  you ……. Eh? ….. wait a minute ……… You aren’t supposed to have one of those!  …. AAaaarrrrrh  you aren’t my grandma – you’re the fucking wolf!  What have you done with her – something grotesquely fiendish I hope?”

“Don’t worry – I just tied her up and put her in the cellar.” replied the Big Bad Wolf.  “You didn’t seriously think I would gobble the old bat up did you?  I would rather stick my testicles in a meat processor!  It’s you I am after!”

“Oh yeah?” laughed Little Red Riding Hood.  “Well you may just regret that cock-sucker!”  And with saying that she kicked the BBW in the bollocks so hard it made his eyes roll up in their sockets and he collapsed to the floor in a heap!  Then she picked up Grandma’s piss-pot from under the bed, emptied the contents over him, before smashing the ornate porcelain receptacle over his bonce and knocking him out cold.

“Jeezus H Christ – what a fucking amateur!” scoffed LRRH.  “For fuck’s sake – it makes you wonder if it’s worthwhile being in these children’s stories when you have to work with dickheads like this!”

She wondered how long she should leave Grandma tied up in the cellar before she went to rescue her.  Maybe not too much longer, but first of all she would take the opportunity for a good look around the old bag’s house and see what might be of interest.  First of all she needed to deal with Mr Wolf as he would no doubt revive in due course and be a bit annoyed.

So while he was unconscious she stripped him down to his underpants and hogtied him with a length of Grandma’s washing line.  Then she got a cucumber from the kitchen, liberally sprinkled it with pepper and mayonnaise before stuffing it up his arse as far as it would go.  She cut off the surplus bit sticking out and stepped back to admire her handiwork. 

“That ought to teach him a lesson!” she thought wickedly.  “Okay – let’s see what Grandma has got hidden about the place.  A hoard of cash maybe?  A will perhaps?”  She had often wondered “who” would get “what” when the old cow snuffed it.

Sure enough, the silly old bat had a wad of fivers stuffed inside a jam jar in the kitchen; there must have been more than a hundred quid.  Red Riding Hood was not greedy though, nor stupid;  she only pocketed thirty so that Grandma would not immediately be suspicious, and the old girl might even be dotty enough to believe that she had spent it herself.

Whilst she was in the pantry LRRH helped herself to a couple of swigs of Grandma’s gin.  WTF – she would tell her that it got spilt in her struggle with Mr Wolf.  The old trout would be so grateful when she got rescued that she wouldn’t care anyway.  Finding no more spare cash about, she finally decided it was time to go and cut Grandma loose before the old girl crapped her pants.  Mr Wolf was starting to regain consciousness; he was twitching his arse in a most uncomfortable-looking manner.

LRRH opened the door leading down to the cellar.  Geez it was dark down there and the light didn’t come on when she flicked the switch.  Cautiously she felt her way down the staircase calling out as she went.

“Grandma?  Are you there?” 

There was no answer, but from out of the darkness came the sound of people giggling.  The lights came on suddenly and an astonished Red Riding Hood found herself confronted with a beaming Grandma, her parents and all her uncles, aunts and cousins, as they all joined together in singing a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday to You”

“What the fuck is going on?” asked an incredulous LRRH.  “Why aren’t you tied up and gagged Grandma?”

“Surprise surprise!” laughed Grandma.  “We are having a birthday party for you.  It was all Mr Wolf’s idea.  He said you are such a lovely girl for befriending him and he wanted to reward you.  Where is he by the way?”

“Umm ………”

Little Red Riding Hood tried to find the words to explain, but for once, she was speechless.

Somehow, she reasoned, this story was deffo not going to end up with everybody (especially her) living happily ever after.


Saturday 9 March 2013

No Hiding Place

The past is just something we cannot undo

It lurks in the shadows to haunt us at will

The things we deny yet we know to be true

Remain on our conscience and trouble us still

Perhaps if we let ourselves suffer the pain

Of a beating from disciplinarian’s cane

We can find a recompense for our misdeed

But in truth it is really forgiveness we need

A kind word and a hug, telling us it’s okay

That the sorrow we feel will be penance well earned

And yet only the actions we take from this day

Will demonstrate how well the lessons were learned.

Monday 15 October 2012


Some pics I found on the web.  Not sure who owns them but thank you who ever you are!

If you gonna get tied up, then a slip is just what you need, Yes?

Tuesday 2 October 2012

Seat of Learning - a true story

 Who is there that with disdain
 Dismiss the power of the cane?
 That swish against the naked skin
 Dispelling vestiges of grin
 Upon the face of Alison
 The naughty little girl from Oxon
 Who, bum throbbing, now regrets
 The smart-arse comments that she lets
 Slip from her lips to the dismay
 Of people that get in her way

 Across the back of Madam’s chair
 She learns the cost of going there
 Of being cheeky; poking fun.
 Long-suffering neighbours every one
 Now smile with glee, as cries they hear
 From Ali’s pain reaching their ear
 Through open window come her pleas
 Of “Lesson learned” and: “No more please!”
 But Madam smiles and carries on
 To the despair of Alison.

Saturday 15 September 2012


Reggie Griffiths was over the moon.  After four years of hard work, exams, with only the odd wild student party thrown in to relieve the stress, he had finally passed out as a newly qualified teacher of English Language.  At last he was at liberty to unleash his free-spirit and unquestionable talent upon the world of secondary education.

As a graduate with honours, he had been able to choose his post very carefully.   Not for him the mad scramble for jobs at the run-down inner city comprehensives.  Oh no- for Reggie the world was virtually at his feet.  Many high-class educational establishments had been tripping over themselves to attract his services.  He had not hurried to choose, but when the post of NQT at the prestigious and very exclusive Eastville High School for Girls had been offered, he had seized the opportunity with both hands.

Now, at eight-thirty, on his first morning, he paced up and down between the neat rows of desks in his newly decorated classroom.  He adjusted the chairs, picked up the odd speck of paper from the polished wooden floor; making sure that everything was just so, in readiness for nine o’clock, when he would be meeting his students for the very first time.  A good first impression was essential.

Reggie was a fairly tall sort of chap, almost six feet in fact.  He was unquestionably handsome, (the girls at college had thought certainly thought so), with short light- brown hair that was parted on the left.

For his first morning, he had chosen to wear a brown checked sports jacket, grey flannel trousers, a white shirt and a mustard coloured tie.  It was not the height of modern fashion, but he was seeking to project the image of being a little older, and a lot more experienced, than he actually was.   He was, after all, only a few years older than the girls he would be teaching, and he still looked young and fresh.

Arriving at the blackboard, he carefully placed the big felt rubbing block neatly to one side of the ledge provided, checking at the same time that there would be sufficient chalk available for his purposes.  The first lesson of the day would be fourth-year grammar – correct usage of verbs.  That should give him a good start-off.

After that he would be teaching the first-year pupils; then in the afternoon the second and third years respectively.   The fifth and sixth forms were outside his province for the moment, but no doubt there would be opportunities to teach them as well later on, either on staff training days or when colleagues were off sick etc.

From the blackboard, he went over to the tall mahogany cupboards, opening each in turn to verify that all of the materials which he would be needing were in place.  Being at the upper-class end of the market, the school wanted for nothing in the way of resources.  Many of the textbooks were brand new.  “Order whatever you need” had been the Headmistress’s instruction.

He had taken her at her word and worked his way meticulously through the school’s bespoke order catalogue, until eventually he had arrived at the final page.  It was then that his eyes opened wide with astonishment.

At first he had been unable to stop his hand from trembling as he studied the short list of items therein.  Canes and leather tawses of all shapes and sizes, each with a photograph, the price of course, plus a brief description of the qualities each had to offer.

As he had studied the page in wonderment, scarcely able to suppress his excitement, the appendage within his trousers had suddenly begun to enlarge.  The  “Sprite Deluxe” model in particular had attracted his attention, being a particularly devilish looking piece of equipment with a curved handle.   Yet when it came to actually placing one on his order form, he lost his nerve, figuring that in a girls-only school, nobody would be expecting him ever to need or use one.

It was Mrs Simpkins, the kindly but brusque school secretary, who had publicly and somewhat embarrassingly brought the omission to light on the staff induction day.

“Canes Mr Griffiths, you have forgotten to order canes!” she had announced in her shrill voice, causing all of his colleagues present in the staff room, mainly women, to turn their heads in his direction.

“B-b-but surely I won’t need one of those will I?” he had blustered self-consciously, drawing smiles of confirmation all round from his coleagues. 

“Of course you will need one Mr Griffiths!” replied Mrs Simpkins incredulously, seemingly at a loss to understand his naivety.  “In fact you will probably need more than one.  How on earth are you going to maintain discipline in the classroom if you do not have a cane to back your authority?”

“W-w-w-well I thought that being w-well bred girls from good homes it wouldn’t be necessary,” had stammered Reggie lamely, clearly intimidated by the secretary’s forthright manner.  “I d-don’t know which one to choose…. I mean, I……”

“Never mind Mr Griffiths,” retorted the secretary, shaking her head in disbelief.  “I will order some for you.  You clearly have a lot to learn about teaching methods and discipline, but you will soon learn once you have been here for a couple of weeks.  The young girls will give you an easy time for the first few days, but only while they are sizing you up.  Then you had better be ready to crack down hard, mark my words, or your life won’t be worth living.”

Reggie had looked for confirmation in the expressions on the faces of his colleagues, only to receive knowing nods in return.

“Agnes is right Reggie,” confirmed Rosemary Hawkins, the deputy headmistress.  “Our young ladies may indeed come from well-to-do families, but they tend to be spoilt brats on the whole, who tend to get their own way at home.  The parents send their girls here expecting them to get some firm discipline now and then, and we try not to disappoint them. A few sharp taps with a swishy cane never harmed anybody!”   

Reggie had bowed to the superior wisdom of his colleagues, forming a mental picture of little pink posteriors in navy blue knickers, hissing and crackling from a close encounter with “Mr Bamboo”.  His train of thought had been interrupted by Mary O’Hare, the Head of History.

“If I could just mention,” she had whispered confidentially, “I would recommend that you also avail yourself of a plimsoll, or slipper as we call it.  The cane is excellent for dealing with the more troublesome little minxes, but it does have the disadvantage of leaving some pretty spectacular marks on the little dears’ posteriors, and can really only be used on them once a fortnight at most.   That is more than enough to bring most of the little witches into line, but some of the serial offenders need a dose nearly every day.  We don’t want the parents complaining about their little darlings being beaten excessively do we?”

Jim listened open-mouthed as Mary continued.

“The slipper is just as effective pain-wise,” she explained, “But it doesn’t make quite so much of an impression, if you catch my drift?  You can use it as often as you like without causing a great deal of aesthetic damage, and the girls soon get the message.  After all, punishment carries a high percentage of shaming as well as pain; they won’t enjoy having to exhibit their knickers at the front of the class too often.  I would keep the cane in reserve as your “punishment of last resort” if I were you.”

Reggie had taken her advice.  Thus it was, with “zero hour” approaching, his tour of inspection of the classroom led him to the imposing desk situated to the right-hand side of the blackboard.  He opened the lid.  Inside, amongst all of the textbooks and classroom notes was an old worn white plimsoll, size nine, tatty and flexible.  He picked it up and smacked it against his palm.

It stung viciously.  Mary was right: it truly would be effective.  And because the sole was so wide – the mark that it would impart on the errant bottom would take much less time to disappear than did a cane weal.  He wondered absently how long it would be, before he would need to use it.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the school bell.  It was five-to-nine.  Outside in the playground, the high-pitched shrieking of adolescent female voices ceased and a distant whistle signalled the order to proceed to classrooms.  Reggie nervously opened his classroom door, went to his desk, and sat down to await the students’ arrival.

Presently, in twos and threes, a file of fourteen year-old girls, smartly dressed in their uniforms of white shirt, blue cardigan and dark blue pleated skirts entered the room.  They all took their places behind their chairs, standing respectfully to attention.

Aware that all eyes were focused expectantly upon him, Reggie went and closed the door, cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Good morning girls.” He said in his most authoritarian tone. “My name is Mr Griffiths.  You will address me as “sir” if you please!”

“Good morning sir!”  chorused the young ladies, in almost precise unison.

So far so good, thought Reggie.  At least they are polite and showing respect.

“Please take your seats.”

When they were all seated, just a few desks remained vacant.  No doubt one or two pupils were absent through illness; hopefully none would be late.  Reggie thought about the slipper in his desk.  Being late was definitely a punishable offence.  He took out the register, putting a tick against the list of names as he called them out.  Only two empty spaces remained when he had finished. 

Having asked the girls to take out their grammar books, he began to outline the principles of verb conjugation. They were barely a couple of minutes into the lesson, when suddenly there was a knock on the door behind him.  Looking round, he saw a good-looking young schoolgirl with medium length, straight dark hair, standing in the doorway.

Yes?” he asked her, a little annoyed at the interruption.

“I-I am sorry sir!” the girl stammered.  She had a pronounced Italian accent.  “It is my first day and I get lost.  Is all very new to me here.”

Reggie eyed her up and down.  She really was very pretty; slim and well proportioned with dark appealing eyes.  His initial instinct was to say that it was alright and not to worry, but then the authoritarian side of his nature took over.

“What is your name girl?” he enquired brusquely.  “You are late.  I take a very dim view of tardiness!”

“It is Ellie sir – Ellie Maldini.”

Reggie checked the register and noted that she was one of the absentees.  He put an “L” against her name, hesitated, then lifted the lid of his desk, taking out the slipper and barely noticing the audible gasp from the seated pupils.

“Right Ellie,” he said.  “Come and stand here in front of the class, face the blackboard and touch your toes.  I will not tolerate lateness for whatever reason.  It is considered very disrespectful, both to me and your colleagues.”

Ellie’s jaw dropped open slightly as if to say something, but apparently thought better of it.  She walked hesitantly towards the backboard, turned smartly to face it, and bent over as ordered.

“Is like this sir, you want me?” she asked nervously, gazing intently at the floor.  Her fingertips were not quite reaching her shoes.

“Part your feet slightly,” replied Reggie.  “You will find it easier that way.”

He watched as Ellie complied.  With her feet planted eighteen inches apart, she could now reach the toes of her shoes in reasonable comfort.  Reggie hesitated for a second, admiring the way that her straightened legs disappeared tantalisingly beneath the hem of her blue pleated skirt.  Should he lift the skirt to expose her knickers? It was a question that was occupying the onlookers’ minds also.   In the classroom you could have heard a pin drop.

There was a temptation to fold it back for sure, but he declined and left the skirt in place.  It barely concealed her pants anyway.  The slipper felt good in his hand as stepped to one side, drew back his arm, and gave her three hard swipes on the bottom in quick succession, the sharp thud reverberating off the classroom walls.  Ellie gasped for breath with the impact, but otherwise said nothing.

“Right, you may get up Ellie; go and sit down.  Perhaps you will not wish to be late again?”

Ellie rubbed her hands vigorously over her skirt and tearfully shook her head.  “No sir.  Thank you sir” Blushing furiously, she went quickly to a vacant desk, seated herself and opened her satchel.

Reggie glared at the rest of the class.  One or two girls had the vestiges of a smirk on their countenances.  He made a mental note of who they were, thinking darkly that he would soon wipe the grins off of their impudent faces if they gave him the slightest excuse.

“Right girls, let that be a reminder to all of you; we do not accept lateness.  Now let us carry on with the lesson. Ellie take out your grammar book please and open it to page thirty-five ……”

The lesson passed without incident and come break-time, Reggie found himself once more sitting next to Mary O’Hare in the staffroom, as they drank their coffee.

“How are you getting on?” she asked.  “Have you used your slipper yet?

“Yes I have actually,” he replied.  “A girl called Ellie was late and I gave her a couple of good whacks.  I hadn’t expected to be using it so soon though.”

Mary looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  “Not Ellie Maldini?” she asked in astonishment.  “The new girl – she speaks with an Italian accent?”

“Yes that’s the one.  Why do you ask like that; have I done something wrong?”

“No.  I am sure it will be fine.  It’s just that today is her first day in an English school and she is the daughter of the Italian Cultural Attaché.  I am sure that she will have some very interesting things to tell her parents tonight when she gets back home.