A Rude Fairy tale
One day in the early Autumn, Goldilocks left the little house where she lived with her Aunt and Uncle and went out for a walk on her own in the woods. Goldilocks got her name from her beautiful golden blonde shimmery hair, it was the first thing about her that people noticed and they always commented on it, to the point wherein had become something of an obsession with her. She would fiddle with it, winding it around her fingers while gazing into the mirror above her dresser. Occasionally a little ditty would appear in her mind. This had of course created in her the belief that she was a gifted poetess, even though she had only once ever written down one of her poems before it vanished into the ether. Anyway on the morning of this lovely early Autumn day she decided that she would take a juicy red apple for lunch and her notebook to write down poems when they occurred to her, as she was sure they would, and she’d go off into the woods over the back fence and she’d walk and let the rhythm of her feet on the stately woodland paths do the rest. As far as some things went, Goldilocks was a very sensible girl.
So Goldilocks walked alone through the woods which were only just starting to turn brown for the Autumn and as the breeze caressed her hair, a song started to take shape in her head. It was still far too early to consider writing it down because it was still so inchoate that it didn’t exactly consist of words, just yet anyway, simply the music that words ride along on top of like a rowboat on the gentle swell out from the shore, but Goldilocks was very happy and quite – abstracted, when she followed a turn in the path around a thick patch of shrubbery and came across a little house, as deep in the woods as she had ever been.
The house was little and built from the kind of rounded stones that made Goldilocks think there must be a river or stream nearby. It had one storey and another, smaller one stuck up high under the steeply angled roof. The roof was made of wooden shingles, the chimney showed no sign of smoke and was made of the same kind of stones as the walls. Two delightful bay windows looked out on the pretty flower garden that was separated from the rest of the forest by a rickety looking picket fence made of unfinished wood. To the side of the flimsy looking front gate stood a letter box with an angled roof and a slot for letters. The slot was empty and on the otherwise blank front of the box there was a single paw-print in black paint and the word “Bears” also in black paint. She noticed that the writing was Wrong. In the childish capitals, the letter”S” was the wrong way around. Goldilocks clicked her tongue and pushed the gate open. When she got to the little front door, she rang the bell, even though she had no idea of what she was going to say if anyone answered it. The bell seemed to ring far away even though it was such a tiny little house. She needn’t have worried because no-one came to the door to answer the bell and her knocking went unheeded too. When she pushed at the door and discovered that it wasn’t even latched, let alone bolted, she pushed the door all the way open and walked right in. She was that kind of girl.
The house seemed to be empty and the hallway certainly was. The place was very neat and smelled very clean but under the smell of freshly vacuumed carpet and the faint smell of bleach that Goldilocks guessed must come from the bathroom, or the laundry, there was another smell faint, but still primal, raw and undeniable. Suddenly Goldilocks was much less sure of herself and there was a falter in her voice when she next called “hello?”
Nothing happened, no-one answered her call. And the house continued to give every appearance of being empty, so it wasn’t long before Goldilock’s natural optimism resurfaced, about the time that she saw the reflection of her hair in the dark parts of a glass-covered picture of an important looking bear. Before much more time had passed, she was slowly waltzing around the sitting room of the house, gently stroking the furniture that she passed with the tips of her fingers because aside from anything else, as spying, sticky-beak poetesses went, she was very tactile.
Mr Bear wasn’t happy to see her. He stood, almost completely filling the open door to the hallway and Goldilocks almost waltzed full length into his furry chest!
Mr Bear gave a deep low grumble from somewhere inside all the fur and bear. It was a grumble, not a growl, but Goldilocks could tell that a creature who could grumble like that could easily produce a very impressive growl. It was an instinctual understanding. So she smiled apologetically, took one step back and curtsied, using her pretty frock to its best advantage. Perhaps unsurprisingly her placatory gesture failed rather spectacularly, since bears are very territorial and far less impressed by apologies than they are by territorial encroachments, especially the sort that has inquisitive, cheeky girls pulling the cutlery out of drawers in the sideboard, touching it and then putting it back, hopefully in the right place. Mr Bear gave vent to his feelings. He didn’t growl, he came forth with a full throated roar, and he jumped on Goldilocks! Goldilocks screamed, sure she was going to be torn to pieces, and tried to fall in a dead faint onto the floor, to lie in a puddle of her own pee, but Mr Bear snatched her out of mid-air, bent her over the thick oak dining table, threw her pretty frock up over her back, forced down her pretty frilly panties, and grabbed two big handfuls of her golden hair and fucked her vigorously, until her screams of terror changed and became far too politically incorrect to be set down here.
Before too long, Mr Bear tired of exacting his revenge on Goldilocks and drew his big penis out of her vagina with a loud schlepping noise that was matched by Goldilocks’ moan, that to the unbiased ear, seemed to be pictched somewhere in the narrow territory between relief and disappointment. Mr Bear picked Goldilocks up as if she weighed no more than a blank postcard, carried her across the room and dropped her on top of Mrs Bear who was lying on her back on the floor in front of the fireplace wearing nothing but her fur. Goldilocks’ face landed directly between Mrs Bear’s legs, with her mouth and nose becoming buried in her most secret place. Goldilocks gasped as Mrs Bear’s cold snout buried itself in her vagina which was still scorching hot from Mr Bear’s frenetic attentions. When Mrs Bear started licking hard and fast at her wet honeypot, she screamed with joy directly into Mrs Bear’s clitoris and started to return the favour, with dedication.
Goldilocks enjoyed herself very much but after awhile, perhaps jaded by too much of a good thing in too short a space of time, started thinking that despite her present activity being a great deal of fun, that something was missing, and her eyes rolled up to where she could see baby bear standing in the doorway watching g\Goldilocks and his mother on the floor. His eyes were bulging out of his head in a way that would have comical if it had not been so disconcerting. He was masturbating, very fast and with great motivation.
Of course “baby” bear was not really a baby, more of a teenager. But since bears lifespans are typically shorter than human ones, a stage of mid-late curling or teenager hood can draw the nickname “Baby” in the same way a college freshman can, when addressed by a gum chewing teenybopper calls her beau “baby” while ruffling his hair in between the pops of bubblegum bubbles.
Goldilocks pounced forward like a praying Mantis in her preying in less time than it takes to write, and even in less time than it takes to read. Goldilocks was sucking on Baby Bear’s penis with a mouth that was still redolent with his mother’s precious fluids. In a time commensurate with Baby Bear’s age and lack of experience in such matters, he ejaculated directly down Goldilocks’ throat and urgently arranged himself prone on the floor to catch his breath. In no time at all, he was sleeping and soon after that he was snoring.
“Well, if that isn’t just typical!” Said Goldilocks thought butshe had no idea if it was or not, and she stood up, wiped her lips with a napkin from the pile on the dining table, straightened her clothes with her hands, opened the front door and went out, where she was immediately arrested by the Bear Police, and charged with aggravated burglary, indecent assault, and acts contributing to the moral delinquency of a minor, all exacerbated by offending the judge with a palpable lack of contrition. She was sentenced of prison where continuing minor infringements of the rules saw her living, somewhat happily until the end of her days.
The Gleet Net 