The Sharpest Tooth

Little girls, this seems to say,
Never stop upon your way.
Never trust a stranger-friend;
No one knows how it will end.
As you're pretty, so be wise;
Wolves may lurk in every guise.
Handsome they may be, and kind,
Gay, or charming never mind!
Now, as then, 'tis simple truth—
Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth!

-"Little Red Riding Hood" By: Charles Perrault (Moral Translated by S.R. Littlewood)

It started as a hobby. I would go out a couple nights a week, mostly to bars, to see if I could get a stranger to come home with me. It helps that I am fabulously good-looking, and charming to boot, but I also have a good eye. Part of that comes from my occupation (I'm a psychiatrist), but a lot of it is just instinct. I know how to pick off the weak ones, the women who go out drinking after a nasty break up, or who just had a fight with the boss at work. I never go for the really hammered ones though, the ones who look like they're going to pass out at the bar. It's no fun when they're that drunk. I enjoy the challenge of the seduction almost as much as the consummation. I like to read their expressions, their body language, to tailor my responses and my personality to be exactly what they are looking for in a man. I can play the romantic dreamer, the sympathetic companion, the demanding seducer, all with equal skill. Whatever it takes to get them home with me.

A couple years ago I started playing a game with myself. I decided to keep score of my winnings. I track the points I earn in a little notebook I have in my back pocket. Each type of woman I take home is worth a different amount of points. Barroom sluts are worth the least, followed by women who've had recent break-ups, divorcees, married women, then new widows. The hardest category, the one worth the most points, also happens to be my favorite. Virgins. Seducing a virgin can be very tricky, especially in a bar. Most virgins want their first time to be special. They don't want it to be with a man they met that night in a bar. I have to use all of my considerable skill to make them change their minds.

Tonight I think I've gotten lucky. I think that a possible virgin has been sitting at a table across the bar from me for the past half hour. She came in by herself right after I settled myself at a table in the corner of the bar. She caught my eye right away because she was on her own, and she seemed to give off an aura of aloofness. It's hard to explain even to myself why I think she looks like a virgin. Maybe it's just the demure white dress she wears. Maybe I just want her to be a virgin because I have always loved taking a woman's innocence.

Regardless of her sexual status, the girl is pretty enough. A little pale maybe, but she has glossy red hair, wide blue eyes, and a small, plump mouth. Her figure is full and pleasantly curvy. She goes to the bar and orders a drink, but she spends a lot of time simply looking around the room. I notice that her eyes seem to rest the longest on the faces of the men scattered throughout the bar. She looks oddly intent, and I wonder what she's thinking about when she looks at them. Is she wondering what it would be like to have them fuck her?

As I watch, she sighs and then gulps down the rest of her drink in two long swallows. I smile and sip my own drink, a virgin vodka and tonic. My job will be all the easier if she's a little tipsy. Deaden those instincts girl, lose those inhibitions. I walk over to the bar so that when she gets up to buy herself another drink, I'm in line ahead of her. I stumble back against her, as if by accident, and apologize profusely, trying to sound embarrassed. I ask her if I can buy her a drink by way of apology and she accepts. It's as easy as that.

I order a Long Island for her and a club soda with lime for myself. I hand the drink to her and then start to turn on the charm. We talk for a long time. Soon she is pouring out her heart to me. I am sympathetic to her woes. I am full of soothing words and subtle compliments. For a long time, over an hour of listening to this prattle, I make no move to touch her. Then, when she tapers off into silence and gazes across the table at me, I say, "Can I kiss you?"

She stares at me for several seconds, as if measuring me, and then she whispers, "Yes."

I lean forward and press my lips against hers, not using my tongue, not yet. She is stiff at first, but as the seconds pass she relaxes and her lips part slightly. I flick my tongue against her lower lip and then pull back. When we break apart she is breathing fast and her face is blotchy with color. "Come home with me," I murmur. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to." I pause, looking into her face, acting hesitant. "I've never met anyone like you before in my life." Women love that line. They like thinking that you put them up on a pedestal above all others.

She stares across the table at me again. She's gauging me, trying to determine if going somewhere private with me is going to be safe. Then she says, "Okay," and gives a small smile. "I've never done anything like this before though."

I reach out and squeeze her hand. "Neither have I," I say, my face perfectly straight. I rise from the table. "Do you want to get going?"

She hesitates, and I try not to let my impatience show. I want to devour her, to strip off her clothes and claw at her flesh, knead her breasts, bite her nipples. I want to spread those thick legs wide and fuck her until she begs me for mercy. I smile at her reassuringly. "We could always stay for another drink, if you're not ready yet."

She rises from the table. "No, let's go. Only-" She hesitates, as if embarrassed. "I'd feel so much more comfortable if we went to my apartment instead."

"Of course," I say. It will actually be easier that way. I can just sneak out after she falls asleep. "I want you to feel safe."

She looks relieved. "Thank you," she says.

We walk out together, hand in hand. I open the passenger door for her when we get to my car in the parking lot. Then I slip into the driver's seat. She directs me to a neighborhood about five minutes away from the bar. We park on the street in front of a large sub-divided house, and she leads me to a door around back. She unlocks it and ushers me into a small, neat apartment.. Once the door closes behind us she seems a little lost. "Can I get you anything?" she asks. "Anything to drink?"

"No thanks," I say. I reach out and grab her hand, then draw her towards me. I kiss her, and this time I let go of my restraint. I use my tongue, prying her lips open and exploring her mouth. After a moment she responds, her tongue brushing against mine, and the kiss deepens. I want to start pulling her clothes off right then and there, but I don't want to ruin things by rushing her now that we're in the home stretch. As I continue to kiss her I begin to stroke one hand slowly up her side so that my palm rests against the swell of her breast. She gives a little jump and then turns so that I can grasp her more fully. I run my finger back and forth over the stiffened bud of her nipple, which I can feel even through the layers of her shirt and bra. She gives a little cry into my mouth and then pulls away from me.

"My bedroom is down the hall," she says. Her boldness surprises me a little. Maybe she's not as much of a virgin as I thought. The girl takes my hand and leads me down the hall to a tastefully decorated bedroom. Then she surprises me again by throwing herself at me with a desperate urgency. Her mouth fastens over mine and her tongue fills my mouth. One of her hands moves to the crotch of my jeans and squeezes gently. I give a moan and crush her against me, both of my hands going to her breasts and kneading them, thumbs stroking her nipples. Then I grasp the hem of her dress and start to raise it. She lets me, and after I pull the garment over her head, she unsnaps her bra and lets it drop to the floor. She wears no panties.

I move forward, my hands out to caress her, but she takes a step back, her lips quirking in a little smile. "Why don't you take your clothes off too," she says. "I don't think you'll need them anymore."

I give her a slow smile, taking the time to run my eyes over her curves, her full breasts capped with dark pink nipples, the neatly trimmed thatch of red hair between her thighs. I've always loved natural redheads. "You want to see me naked?" I say teasingly. My hands go to the buttons of my shirt.

"I really do," She says. Her faced is flushed, and her entire body is trembling. Fear? Arousal? A mixture of both?

"Well, I've never been able to deny a lady what she wants," I say, and start unbuttoning my shirt. Her eyes are intent on my body as I strip, the shirt coming off first, followed by everything below the waist. I do it slow, giving her a little bit of a show, and by the time I'm finished her eyes are wide. I know how good I look naked. I've worked hard to get that way. I walk towards her, my erect cock leading the way, and this time she doesn't retreat. I cup her breasts and kiss her hard, my cock brushing up against her belly.

When we break apart she gasps, "The bed, please."

I scoop her into my arms and carry her the few feet to the bed, throwing her down on top of the comforter and then positioning myself at the foot of the bed so that I am crouched between her splayed legs. I start kissing my way up her thighs and raise one finger to trace up and down the opening of her pussy. I notice with satisfaction that she's already soaking wet. When I use my fingers to spread her labia wide and begin to lap at her clit with the tip of my tongue, she throws her head back against the pillows and moans. I am very good at eating pussy. It's an art, and I've had plenty of opportunity to perfect it. Eat out a woman long enough and she becomes a lot more open to sexual suggestion. As I lick and suck and tease, she writhes, her hands reaching out to clutch handfuls of the comforter and twist it until her knuckles turn white.

Soon enough, she gasps, her body goes rigid, and I can feel the muscles of her pussy starting to contract against my gently pressing fingers. I focus all of my attention on her clit, licking it in fast, broad strokes as she begins to cry out, her orgasm rocking through her. Her thighs tremble and her entire body flushes pink. It goes on for quite awhile, and when I sense the tremors starting to diminish into aftershocks, I pull away from her. I slide my body up over hers, letting my cock rest lightly against her thigh and bracing my weight on my elbows so that I'm looking down into her face. She looks dazed.

I reach down between us and position my cock at her opening. I draw back my hips, ready to plunge myself into her, but her voice stops me. "Wait," she says. I pause, trying not to let my annoyance show. "Can I be on top?" She asks.

I allow myself a smile. "Of course," I say, and I roll over onto my back. She follows me, swinging one leg over my hips so that she straddles me, her head hovering over my own. The slick lips of her vulva rub against the head of my cock and I decide that I'm done waiting. I position myself against her opening and reach up to grasp her shoulders, pressing her down onto me while at the same time thrusting my hips upward. She gives a sharp cry when I penetrate her and we both freeze for a few moments.

Then she starts to ride me with tentative jerks of her hips, and I place my hands on either side of her ass, guiding her into a smoother rhythm. Soon she finds a pace that is steady and almost maddeningly slow. I lie back against the pillows, letting her ride me and relishing the view of her swinging breasts. She grasps the edge of a shelf above the bed to support herself, her hips gradually starting to work faster. Soon she is slamming herself down on me and grunting in a very unladylike way, as if she is completely carried away by the proceedings.

I start to feel a little carried away myself, and I close my eyes. The animal pleasure she is taking in my body is bringing things to a climax rather more quickly than I had anticipated. I clench my hands into fists around the ornate wrought-iron bed frame and try to will away the onrushing orgasm, to temporarily numb myself from the sweet little pussy squeezing and sliding on my cock.

I feel something cold encircle my wrist and hear a faint metallic click. It's hard to mistake the feeling of being handcuffed for anything else. My eyes fly open and I start to sit up, but she slams her hips back down on me and in that moment I begin to come. I just can't help myself. I groan and my entire body spams with pleasure as she continues to grind her hips against me. As the shudders rock through me I watch her snatch a second pair of handcuffs from the shelf over the bed and clamp them on my other wrist, locking me to the bed frame. As the last tingles of orgasm finally dissipate, I regain some control over my faculties.

"You didn't tell me you were kinky," I say, manufacturing a little laugh.

"There are all sorts of things I didn't tell you," she says. Her eyes are bright and her entire body is flushed pink and glistening with sweat. I'm still inside her, and despite my predicament, maybe even because of it, I can feel my cock starting to get hard again. What she says next though, hits me like a bucket of ice water. "Like how I'm the granddaughter of a woman you raped two months ago."

Granddaughter? I wasn't usually in the habit of taking home senior citizens. Maybe her family has a tendency to give birth at a young age. Maybe she's just crazy. "I've never raped anyone," I say. "I--"

"Save it," she says. "You got her so drunk that she blacked out, but you fucked her anyway. I bet you gave yourself extra points because she was a recent widow." She climbs off of me and goes to the top drawer of her dresser. She pulls out a horribly familiar little black notebook. I know right away that it's one of the same type that I keep score in, maybe the very one that I'd lost a couple months ago. At the time I thought I had left it in the back of a cab, but obviously that had not been the case. "She found this under the bed the next day. That brought back some dim memories of her taking a strange man back to her apartment."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say. "Now unlock these fucking cuffs. I'm done with this game."

"Did you know that you wrote down your name on the first page of this notebook?" she asks, and I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. Now that she says it, I do remember. It had been almost an automatic gesture. I kept telling myself to rip out that page, but I'd just never gotten around to it. She gives me a grim smile. "All I had to do was Google your name and show Grandma some pictures. She recognized you right away from the head shot I pulled off of your practice's website. I followed you for awhile to figure out your favorite haunts, and then I started hunting for you."

She comes up very close to me and I look up into her face. Her eyes are hard. Suddenly I'm scared. I realize that I am completely at this girl's mercy. The cuffs around my wrists feel like they're police issue, and the bed frame is solid iron. I'm not going anywhere. When she continues speaking her voice is low, but perfectly clear, perfectly controlled. "I'm going to send your notebook to the American Board of Psychiatry," she says, "Along with a letter detailing how it came into my possession. Then I am going to post it on the internet along with a sample of your handwriting and a link to your practice's website."

Panic starts to rip at me and I pull against the cuffs, knowing that the gesture is absolutely useless. "Please don't do that," I say.

She gives me another one of those smiles that lowers my blood temperature by ten degrees. "Asking nicely isn't going to change my mind." she says, and she leaves the room. Panic really sets in then and I jerk at the handcuffs, trying to find a weak point in the bed frame. No luck. She returns a few minutes later, standing in the doorway fully dressed and holding her purse. "I'm going to unlock you the cuffs now and you're going to leave," she says.

Relief fills me, but it is almost immediately surmounted by rage. I decide that as soon as she frees me I'm going to grab her. I'm going to hurt her for humiliating me, leave her bleeding. Then I'm going to take back my notebook and go home. She is studying my face, and as I reach this conclusion I see her lips twitch into a humorless smile. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small handgun. She comes up close to me again and touches the gun's muzzle to the center of my chest. I jerk against the handcuff chains and before I can stop it, a little whimper escapes from between my lips. This crazy bitch is going to shoot me. She trails the gun down my sternum and belly until it brushes against my cock, and I give a moan, my heart hammering, my entire body rigid.

When she speaks, the sound of her voice makes me give an embarrassingly feminine shriek. "I'm going to undo one cuff and then give you the key," she says, and she takes a few steps back. I almost sob in relief as the cold kiss of the gun is removed from my body. "If you take a single step in my direction, I'm going to shoot you in the head and tell the cops that broke into my apartment and raped me." With that, she goes to the shelf above the bed and removes a small key from it, which she uses to unlock the left cuff. For a moment I think about trying to grab the gun, but she slaps the handcuff key into my palm and immediately steps away from me. She goes to the corner of the room and stands with the gun pointed unwaveringly at my head as I use the key to unlock the other cuff.

I slide off of the bed, wobbling for a moment on trembling legs. Then I gather my clothes in my arms and walk towards the door. The muzzle of the gun follows my progress. When I reach the doorway I turn to look back at her, shame scorching me, impotent anger churning in my belly. "Why?" I ask. "Why the fuck did you go through all the effort of cuffing me? If you hate me so much, why the hell did you let me fuck you?"

She gives me another of her icy smiles over the barrel of the gun. "Because you needed an object lesson. People like you don't change until they get bitten in the ass. Maybe next time you think about playing your little game, you'll remember what happened to you tonight. Maybe you'll remember that the most harmless looking prey can have the sharpest teeth." I turn from her and slink out the door.

The End

Thanks for reading. "Little Red Riding Hood" has always been one of my favorite fairytales. There's just something about it that gets to me. Its simplicity, its strange sexiness. The story was intended to be a cautionary tale for young ladies about the dangers of sweet-talking men. In the original version, the Wolf asks Red to take off all of her clothes and climb into bed with him. Then he eats her. No one comes to save her. That advent to the tale was added later on. I wrote a treatment of Red Riding Hood for a creative writing class in college, but I had to keep it PG-13, so it turned out a bit lackluster. This is my re-write and it turned out to be very different from the original. I wanted to explore the idea that people are rarely what they seem, and that even the most innocuous of people can have hidden teeth. The verse at the beginning is an English translation of the moral appended to the original version of "Little Red Riding Hood" by Charles Perrault. Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.