NCE upon a time there was a very pretty little girl who everyone loved. Her hair was blonde, her eyes were blue and her lovely, slender legs went on forever. Well, that's not quite true, her girl friends envied her cute nose and perky breasts, her mother hated her masturbating with her favourite wooden spoons and the boys just wanted to get into her pretty, red knickers, but we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Her grandmother really did love her (in a non-sexual way) and gave her a frilly red thong and a matching hoodie on her fourteenth birthday, which made the little girl very happy. Especially when she wore them while she was riding her wooden pony (in a shamelessly sexual way). And that was why everyone started calling her 'Little Red Riding Hood'—or 'Sticky Red Riding Knickers', behind her back—though her real name was Jennifer. One day when she was wearing her red thong and hoodie (and nothing else) and riding her wooden pony as usual, her mother peered at her through her thick, pebble glasses and said irritably: "Oh you're such a slut, Jennifer. Don't you know you'll go blind if you keep doing that?"
"Oh, it's OK, mum, " she said with a giggle, "Dobbin can always see when I'm coming."

Her mother shook her head sadly and said: "Look, here's some spliff and a bottle of Brandy. It's not the best but she'll never notice the difference. Take them to your grandmother. She's been a bit low lately. Some spliff and a few stiff drinks will cheer her up no end. You'd better start now while it's still light before all the vampires and werewolves come out. Don't talk to strangers or stray from your path. For goodness sake zip that top up and pull that slutty microskirt down, or some smelly old man will rip those pretty red knickers off you and auction them on eBay before you've even noticed they're missing. And when you get to her flat, don't go poking about in your grandmother's drawers looking for things to shove up your pussy. That's how your sister ended up in hospital."

"I'll do everything right, mummy," Little Red Riding Hood promised. Her grandmother lived in St John's Wood, half an hour's tube ride from the Chelsea maisonette she and her mother shared with two impoverished BBC scriptwriters and a transsexual plumber, called 'Bob.' No sooner had Little Red Riding Hood entered South Kensington station and stepped into a carriage, than she was accosted by an American werewolf. Hang on a minute...an American werewolf in London—on the Circle line, in broad daylight? Aren't we mixing up our stories here, not to mention asking for a suspension of disbelief which is quite extraordinary? Look, this is a fairy story, okay? The whole point of fairy stories is that they're not remotely believable. Anyway, he didn't look much like a wolf when Sticky Red Riding Knickers—sorry, 'Little Red Riding Hood', met him; don't you know anything about lycanthropy? Can we get on now? Right, as you may have gathered, Little Red Riding Hood was a bit short-sighted on account of all the time she spent riding her little wooden pony, but far too vain to wear glasses or contacts. So she didn't spot the telltale signs that would have warned her she was dealing with a merciless lycanthrope rather than a very hirsute stockbroker with a luxuriant beard and a sexy, American accent.

"Good afternoon, Little Red Riding Hood," he said politely. Wait a minute...how the hell did the werewolf know her name? Well, it's obvious isn't it? She was wearing a black microskirt barely largely than a postage stamp and had her bright red hoodie tied around her lovely neck. Just because he's American doesn't mean he's several votes short of a full majority, does it? He'd have to be blind as well as stupid not to notice the frilly red thong riding high on her pert little bottom. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing all alone on the tube during a terrorist alert?" he asked.
"I'm going to my grandmother's."
"And what's in the pretty basket you're clutching so tightly in your little hand?"
"A bottle of Brandy and some spliff," replied Little Red Riding Hood. "Mummy dried it fresh this morning because Granny's feeling a bit low so she'd have something to cheer her up."
"And where does your grandmother live?" asked the werewolf.
"In St John's Wood. It's a big old mansion surrounded by a tall, beech hedge and lots of massive oak trees. Granny lives in a flat in the south wing. You must know it. Everyone does."
"I do," replied the werewolf. "And it so happens I'm visiting a client who lives quite near there. Perhaps we can travel together?"
"Yes, that would be nice," said Little Red Riding Hood, eyeing him up and down appraisingly. "Gosh you're big. How tall are you?"

"Six two," said the werewolf.
"Hmm," she said to herself, "be a bit long in the leg, but it'll do... That y' own beard is it?" she added aloud, reaching up to stroke the soft growth mantling his cheeks and chin.
"Yes."
"Mmm, safe."
"How young and innocent she is," chuckled the werewolf to himself as they found a seat in the empty carriage. "And how firm and perky her little breasts look. Why, she's going to be even more of a pushover than the old hag. If I play my cards right I'll get to gobble both them before they've even noticed my teeth are a bit bigger than the average stockbroker's."

By the time the train reached Paddington, Little Red Riding Hood had forgotten all about her mother's warnings and was chattering gaily to the werewolf, seemingly oblivious to the way he stared at her when her microskirt rode up over her tanned thighs. She didn't even complain when he slid his hand underneath and started kneading her thong. She closed her eyes and was soon sighing softly to herself with her head thrown back, dreaming she was riding her little wooden pony. It was only when he slid two fingers inside her and began to draw little grunts from her throat that she sat up with a jerk and suggested he might like to wait until they got to her grandmother's.

"What's at your grandmother's?" he asked huskily.
"A big surprise."
"You're a right little slut, aren't you?"
"I am with you. Oh, I'm that hot for you I could come in my thong right now."
"Well don't," the werewolf said, giving her very wet crotch a final squeeze, "I have other plans for you, my pretty."
"Big plans?" she asked breathlessly.
"Life changing."
Little Red Riding Hood smoothed down her skirt and got up as the train pulled into Baker Street. It was then that the werewolf suggested that rather than changing to the District Line and travelling on to St John's Wood, they walk the rest of the way to her grandmother's flat. She nodded her agreement and giggled as she slid her hand under his jacket and caressed his back. "Gosh, you are hairy, aren't you?" Like a big, furry teddy bear."
"I'm a wild animal," he said with a coarse laugh.

As they left the tube station and entered Maida Vale, she glanced shyly up at him from the corners of her big blue eyes and took his hand in hers. "How very young and naïve she is!" thought the werewolf. "Her hair is like pure gold and her little titties are almost popping out of that top. Those pretty, pouting lips are just begging to be wrapped around my throbbing cock. Why, she'll be even tastier than the old bag. If I play my cards right I can shag them both before I eat them!"
After walking for a while beside the gorgeous girl and trying not to notice the frilly, red thong riding high on her wiggling bottom, he squeezed her hand as they entered a street market and said: "Look at the lovely goldy bling on that stall. Why don't you look around you? They're selling Religion tops at under twenty quid over there. This market is full of the most amazing bargains, but you're trudging along so solemnly anyone would think you were going to your own funeral."

Little Red Riding Hood looked up. "I was thinking about granny. She's been so low lately."
"Well, there's something to cheer her up," said the werewolf, indicating a nearby stall.
When she saw the way the sunlight glinted on the brightly coloured, glass pipes on a table crammed with Hippy memorabilia, her blue eyes widened in delight and she said to herself: "Grandma will be so pleased if I bring her one of those to smoke the spliff in. It's still early, so we'll be in plenty of time." Quite forgetting her mother's warning, she stepped off the pavement and dashed into the market. But when she had picked out one pipe, she spotted an even more beautiful Indian hookah and was soon rummaging happily among the stalls, utterly oblivious to the werewolf until he tapped her on the shoulder.
"Er...look," he said, "I have to drop in on my client. I'll be back in ten minutes."

You will come to visit granny with me, won't you?" she asked breathlessly.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he replied, almost drooling with anticipation as he fixed his eyes on the inviting swell of the pert, young breasts straining against her thin top. Little Red Riding Hood blushed and tugged her skirt further down her slender, tanned thighs, which only exposed more of the bright, red thong to the werewolf's hungry gaze. She gave him an affectionate peck on his hairy cheek and was soon completely absorbed in looking through all the beautiful things. As for the werewolf, he wasted no time and legged it straight to the grandmother's flat and rang the bell.
"Who's there?" asked a querulous voice.
"Little Red Riding Hood with some Brandy and spliff for you, granny!" replied the werewolf in a perfect imitation of the little girl's voice.
"Don't lean on the fucking bell all day, you silly girl, come on in, the door's open, you know I never get up before sunset."

That should have given the werewolf pause for thought, but he was so excited by the prospect of devouring the old hag, not to mention some incredible sex with her hot granddaughter, that he boldly kicked open the door and plunged into the flat, fangs bared and eyes alight with bloodlust. He realised his mistake when he entered the old woman's bedroom and idly opening the lid of an ornate casket, found a semi-naked, drop-dead gorgeous brunette in her mid thirties reclining languidly in the velvet-lined interior.
"Bugger!" he muttered. "A fucking vampire. Just my luck!"
But before he could make his escape, a powerful arm reached out, his head was jerked violently backwards and two sharp fangs sank deeply into his neck. His shock quickly gave way to surprise as the grandmother leaped to her feet, vomited heavily onto the carpet and staggered back with an expression of disgust on her beautiful face.

"Bugger!" she shouted. "A fucking werewolf. I'd forgotten just how bad you vermin taste!"
The two creatures of the night stared at one other warily for several moments, before collapsing into separate chairs.

now read the terrifying conclusion...