Little Red: A Lesbian Fairy Tale: Part Five

This story starts in the dirt. A predator’s stare fixes on Red, small and green behind the eyes. She blinks once, twice, then sees what they see: meat, young and dressed in innocence they long to rip apart. No one asks. They only take—hands, mouths, contracts. They shove their want inside her life like fingers under her skirt. She learns the lesson with teeth marks on her neck. Mrs. Riding and the social worker arrive with wire and teeth of their own. They slam Wolf onto cold linoleum, then Fox, the grinning fixer who laughs even when cornered. Red tastes revenge between their legs: sour, sticky, screaming. Tongues and spite work like hammers until Wolf’s legs quit kicking. Fox comes next, gagging on her own last yelp as Mrs. Riding’s fist holds her open. Cum rushes out, hot and milky, over wrists slick with sweat. They drink until the bodies still twitch and the air goes sour. For one clipped second it looks won. Then a door slams far off. Glass cracks. Wolf’s last grin slides across Red’s mind like a razor. Something larger just entered the room, and the story folds again, dark and sudden.