This is a story of extreme sexual fantasty - including rapeplay, slapping, piss-play and degradation. You have been warned.
After the rain in the morning, it turned into a nice Sunday afternoon so Marilyn insisted Jane come out for a drive out into the country. The girl had no friends so she would do nothing but mope around the house anyway if she wasn't dragged out and forced to enjoy herself. She would be no real company for her landlady but at least this way they would both get some fresh air and sun. Besides, a Porsche of a certain age needed a run out of the garage every now and then to keep its engine running.
They drove south out of London for miles until there was nothing but green fields and picturesque villages. The pub Marilyn had selected was just off the A-road at the start of a wood. A brook ran past it and several fishermen had set up base by the side. The stone cottage walls dated back to at least two centuries ago, if not further. It was a real pub -- there was no children's play area outside and no chalkboards offering gastronomical delights. A number of American motorbikes parked outside hinted at the clientele it was aiming for.
The taps offered a variety of real ales and, in a rare nod to its more dainty female customers, a couple of different types of cider. Marilyn was driving but she got one for Jane without asking. The girl needed to come out of her shell and this would require alcohol. Marilyn waved away her objections.
"Drink up. It's the weekend. You need to shed some of those inhibitions if you're ever going to live life. You need to find yourself a man."
"I've got a man," said Jane. "Peter."
"Peter, pffft," said Marilyn. "Has he made you cum yet?"
Jane's face reddened. Marilyn had spoken loud enough to attract attention, most noticeably from a leather-clad gentleman at the pool table who looked up at her mid-cue.
"What you need is a real man," announced Marilyn, less to her companion and more to the bar in general.
Jane remained silent. This was the general level of conversation Marilyn had come to expect from her. The girl was always annoyingly reticent about acknowledging the needs she had and how they weren't being met. With no further pronouncements, the bar patrons slowly returned to whatever they had just been doing.
"Oh, I've just remembered," said Marilyn reaching inside her bag and pulling out a shoe box. "I brought a present for you."
Jane took it and opened it. It contained a pair of sparkly red three-inch heels. Jane doubted she herself would have been able to find a pair of shoes less matching her own taste in whatever shoe shop Marilyn had found these.
"Thank you," she said regardless, as she had always been taught to politely receive gifts however inappropriate.
"You should try them on," said Marilyn.
Jane put the shoes on and, with her old sensible shoes still in hand, stood up. She wasn't used to such extravagant heels and she tottered on them for a moment before sitting straight back down again.
"Here, I'll take your flats." As Marilyn reached over to take them she knocked the pint of cider forward. The contents spilled down onto Jane's floral dress. She sprang up only to collapse suddenly on her unfamiliar heels. She ended up her back, rubbing her elbow which she had banged against the table on her way down.
A biker with thick tattooed arms came over and helped her up. As she got to her feel she felt the other hand brush against her behind and gave her left cheek a soft but unmistakable squeeze.
"Thank you," said Jane as she righted herself. She'd meant for the assistance, nothing else.
"Oh dear," said Marilyn. "I'm so clumsy. You'll have to change out of that dress."
"But I haven't got anything else," moaned Jane.
"You go into the ladies and clean up," said Marilyn. "I'll see what I can find."
Jane went into the loos and slipped out of her dress. As it was already soaked, she ran it under the tap and then wrung it out to try and get some of the alcoholic smell out of it. As she washed it she looked at herself in the mirror, standing by the sink in just her bra, knickers and heels.
Not for the first time she felt herself wishing she had Marilyn's looks, her charm and definitely her enormous chest. Jane had always been a plain girl. She was lucky really that Marilyn took such an interest in her.
A minute or so later, Marilyn entered the restroom. "Here. I found this," she said.
Jane immediately wondered where. It was a bright red cloak straight out of a fairy tale. She had little choice though so she put it on, even pulling the hood around her face. The material was thick and luxurious and it felt good, covering her from head down to her shins.
It exactly matched her new red shoes.
"I'd like to go home now," she said.
Marilyn nodded. "Of course."
As they returned to the main room of the pub, the room again quietened. Everyone was looking in her direction and she saw at least one biker give his friend a nudge. She tried to wrap the cloak even closer around her body.
Jane gathered her courage and started the walk across the room to the exit. Just as she reached the door, Marilyn grabbed her by the arm. "Don't go out the front door. It's the main road." she said. "I'll bring the car round the back."
Marilyn guided her back through the room and into the beer garden. She opened a little gate in the fence and indicated the woods. The brook ran down the side and then there was a steep embankment up to the other side and a bit further on she could just about make out the cars on the main road.
"There's a path here that runs a little way through the woods and to a dirt track." Marilyn sensed Jane's concern. "Tell you what, I'll drive slowly and keep you in sight as you go. You can wait here until you see me."
Jane leant against the fence as the older woman disappeared. She scanned the road and a few minutes later she made out a red blur that was moving so slowly that it must be Marilyn's Porsche.
She started out on her journey and almost immediately cursed herself for not thinking to ask for her flat shoes back. The morning rain had softened the ground and her heels dug into the earth at every step. About a fifty meters from the pub, the woods started in earnest and she then had to deal with twigs and leaves everywhere. With one step she misjudged her footing and crumpled down on the cloak, her weight pushing it even further down into mud.
She cursed herself again for her clumsiness, but there was nothing for it but to get back up and keep going.
Marilyn's claim that the meeting point was a 'little way' down the path turned out not to be true. She struggled onwards for ten minutes. She wondered if somehow she'd come the wrong way but with the stream and road blocking her on one side, it was geometrically impossible that she could have gone wrong. She'd just needed to keep going.
Jane notice that there was less and less light to guide her way. Partly it was the clouds which had suddenly returned, and as she got deeper and deeper into the wood the trees blocked out even more light. It was November so it would be getting properly dark before too long if she didn't hurry up. She was relieved to see Marilyn was still trailing her in the car, but she noted that even she had turned the headlights on now.
She struggled on. The path, such as it was, took a sudden turn up hill and she had increasingly had to rely on trees to support her as she climbed. She heard noises behind her. She turned and could barely make out figures approaching from behind. She hoped it was merely dog-walkers who had been as ill-informed of the route as she had. Nevertheless she was uneasy and tried to double her pace. This only led to her sliding around more on the slick uneven ground.
She took the heels off. The points dug too far in the mud. Now climbing, she was now holding the shoes in one hand and trying to steady her way up by holding onto branches. She could no longer keep the cloak closed and the wind blew in apart, exposing her legs. She felt its icy touch against her private parts.
As she crested the hill, she took a look back. She was still being followed. Through the trees she could make little out, except that they were wearing leather. There were no dogs. She turned and suddenly saw two men ahead of her. They had been in the pub. The one on the left was the biker who had helped her up when she had fallen. On the right was his pool opponent.
"Hello, Little Red Riding Hood," the left one greeted her. "On the way to grandma's house?"
"I'm just trying to get back to my car," she said trying to hug the cloak even closer against her skin.
"Sure, you are," said the right one. "Sure you are. Don't worry, we'll see you home safely."
He paused for just a second and licked his lips. "Right after."
She heard a branch snap behind her and looked back. She could see her pursues now more clearly. Another three bikers, they were practically here.
"Now, that cloak has a fine tradition," said the left one again. "It's not just the signal, it's also very practical. Lay it on the ground and you won't get too muddy. Here, let me show you."
He reach out and hand and grabbed the end of the red cloak. Jane grabbed the fabric around her breast to try and keep hold of it. A second later the other man grabbed the garment from the other side and his hand went to her throat. The clasp fell from the cloak and it fell, exposing her breasts. She was still holding onto the cloak, but she couldn't be said to be wearing it any-more. She gave up and let them take it.
Having dis-robed her, the men retreated a little. They stared at her naked body as their friends finally arrived. She stood in the middle of a circle, surrounded by five men.
"Well, well, well," said the man she was starting to think of as the leader. "Aren't you a pretty thing. You know, most of the Riding Hood's who do the walk to grandma's house, they're not as young as you. Hell, many of them are practically grandma's themselves. It doesn't matter, of course, if they're game. They know what they're doing. You though...I wonder if you've bitten off more than you can chew."
"And if I have?" asked Jane, her voice wavering.
"What safewords? Does this look like it's going to be safe and consensual play within predefined limits. You don't want to play, you don't put on the red cloak. Everyone knows that."
" I don't..." started Jane.
"What? Want to play all of a sudden?" said the leader. He flicked the cloak into the wind and laid it down in an area that was relatively free of mud.
"...know," said Jane. A tear fell down her face.
"Of course you did," said the leader. "Nobody collects the red cloak from Mike without him making it crystal clear."
The neighbouring biker stepped forward and unzipped his pants. He pulled out his cock, already half-hard.
