“Over the hills and through the woods,” a young lady recited to herself, “That’s the way to Granny’s cottage. Poor old girl came down with a cold so I figured I should stop by and check up on her and make sure she’s okay. And there I go talking to myself again. Dang it, Red.” This young lady was Red “Riding Hood” Duncan, known for the red hooded cape she always wore. Perhaps she isn’t quite the same fairy tale maiden you might remember, because she happens to be endowed with something a little extra. She lived in a world where hermaphroditism was a very common condition, and hermaphrodites were rather well known for being absolutely thirsty.
Red Duncan belonged to a long lived lineage of hermaphroditic women. Duncan women, people say, were very well known for their cakes, both figuratively and literally. Not only did they pass down their world renowned baking skills and recipes through the generations, they also passed down their monster booty genes. Red was no exception, wearing her dummy thick Duncan legs with jiggling, clapping pride. Duncan hermaphrodites also had large cocks, balls, and pussies to match their asses, hips, and thighs, and boy were they ever virile!
Red, as you might remember the story going, was strolling through the woods to her Granny’s cottage. As she walked, you could hear her large cheeks clapping softly, the sound echoing off the trees subtly. The sound was heard by a wolf man, who was napping under a tree at the time. The wolf man was often called Big and Bad, not that he particularly cared what what called him. He was certainly quite big, and in many ways he was certainly quite bad, befitting of his title. He was awakened by the sound of cheeks clapping in the distance, and started feeling a little bit thirsty, and a little bit hungry. He crept through the shadows of the trees, watching Red walk along the forest path until she came to a fork in the road.
“They really should put up road signs at this fork,” Red said aloud, “I can never remember which one leads to Granny’s!”
“Pardon me, little girl,” the wolf said suddenly, sneaking up from behind, “I think I know where your Granny lives.” Red, trembling, turned to look at whoever was talking to her. Her face went pale when she saw him, an eight foot tall, lanky, broad shouldered wolf man in worn and tattered jeans. His glowing yellow eyes looked thirsty as he stared down at Red, grinning with all of his sharp pearly whites.
“Y-you’re the Big Bad Wolf,” Red stammered.
“I’ve been called a lot of things,” the wolf said, “but everyone always defaults to calling me big and bad. I promise that I’m not all as bad as people say, little girl... well, maybe not so little.” He licked his lips, hunger in his grin. Red responded to the wolf’s come on with a slap in his snout.
“First off,” Red started, “I am not a little girl, I’m 18 years old! Second, did you just call me fat?! Sure I eat a lot of sweets and stuff, coming from a bakery family and all, but I make it a point to keep myself trim! Besides, all the weight I gain goes straight to my ass and legs, and I am okay with that so long as it stays away from my tummy! And there I go rambling again, dang it!”
“Look, kid,” the wolf interjected, “I don’t need your life’s story. I heard that jumbo butt of yours slapping from a mile away, and it disturbed my nap and made me thirsty. You think you can help me with that, girly?”
“For your information,” Red said, “my name is Red Riding Hood Duncan, and I was trying to get to my Granny’s house. She’s come down with a cold, and I offered to check up on her.”
“Duncan... as in Duncan Bakery?” the wolf asked, “You’re going to want to take the right here, but I ain’t done with you. What’s that you got in that basket?”