A Cellar Fairy Tale

[Sundae]

Once upon a time, in the dark and timeless forest, a comely young lass set forth on a journey to visit her Grandma.

Little did she know that her Grandma was out shopping for cats, and in her absence a wolf had crept into her bed.

The girl, dressed in her best red hood, knocked on the door.
“Come in!” called a gruff voice.
Stepping into the house, the sweet maiden exclaimed, “Why Grandma, what a gruff voice you have!”
“All the better for you to hear me!”

Pretty as a picture in a case, she ventured forwards.
“And Grandma! What yellow eyes you have!”
“All the better for you to see them,” came the reply.
“And Grandma -”

“Okay - stop!” came a commanding voice from the window.

“Ooh! A woodcutter, come to save me!” cooed the lady.

A battle scarred but handsome wolf paced into the room.
“Wrong,” he growled.
“I’ve come to save him.” He tilted his muzzle at the ridiculous figure in the bed.
“Ixnay onway ethay olfway itshay!” said the adolescent wolf in the bed.

“Ah come on” said the veteran, “You think this was going well? You don’t think she had you rumbled from the first knock? Mate, they bring these girls up on that Angela Lansbury crap now!”

“Beauty and the Beast?” asked young Red, preening.
“Murder She Wrote?” asked teen wolf, baffled.
“The Company of Wolves.” growled the old-timer.

“Rumbled” said Red, sinking to her pretty haunches.
“I just wanted an animal lover who went mad at the sight of a full moon.
Do you know how hard it is for us these days?
Rapunzel’s in chemo, Beauty got the Beast and now he runs a car lot, the toad became a prince when the princess kissed him and he proposed with a lovely pearl. Where’s the romance these days? Where’s the passion?”

The old wolf grinned as only a wolf can. He showed his strong white teeth and a sinfully red tongue lolled between them.
“There is another way,” he suggested slyly
“You could come with me and trace the forests wild, sleeping under the trees, running in the moonlight, rutting like… well, wolves… until our cries of passion drive the ducks nuts.”

“Yes, oh yes!” she breathed, her excitement making tsunami of her small but perfect breasts.

“It’s not easy,” he shrugged. “It’s a commitment to run with the pack.”

“You monster!” cried the young’un, abasing himself in his old lady clothes.
“How dare you steal my intended!”

“Intended meal you mean,” said the wolf, licking his lips.
“I’m not a beast, I’ve just been around the block long enough to know beauty should be cultivated, not consumed.”

“And who are you to lecture me like this?”

“I am the Spode. And we are leaving.”

With a flurry of wolf-hair and a swirl of red cloak the two disappeared into the night.
And everyone lived happily ever after.
Oh, the young wolf? Well, he met up with Grandma and her new pussy.
But that, as they say, is another story.

Night, night children.