The Guilt Will Kill You - Sex Stories

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The Guilt Will Kill You

Date: 7/17/2016, Categories: Fiction, Consensual Sex, Male / Females, Oral Sex, Romance, Author: wantsomefun, Rating: 95.2, Source: sexstories.com

This is a story I did not complete in time for CAW #20 on the Sex Stories forum. For lack of a better explanation, let's say it's loosely based on “Little Red Riding Hood”. The main female character's name was inspired by Sergei Prokofiev's “Peter and the Wolf”, which has nothing whatsoever to do with anything. *** Not very long ago, not very far from here, a young woman struggled with her dirt bike in the woods. “Please start,” she mumbled. “The last thing I want to do today is push you home.” “Hey! You in the red hoodie!” an angry voice shouted. “Can't you read?” Startled, Pietra spun around to see a very large man striding toward her. His long bushy hair hung loose, blending into a huge graying beard. In old camo clothes, he was an intimidating figure. “Um, can't I read what?” “The 'no trespassing' signs. This is private property. My private property. You come blasting through here on that damned noisy rice-burner of yours all the time.” “I didn't see any signs.” “Bullshit. You couldn't have missed them all. They’re everywhere.” She mumbled, “They say, 'No hunting'.” “Aha! I thought you said you didn't see my signs! They also say, 'No trespassing' and 'No motor vehicles', dammit!” “Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe I saw 'em. But what's the big deal? I'm just passing through.” “The big deal is I posted my land because I do NOT want people 'passing through'! Get out of here, and don't come back!” “My bike stalled. It's been doing this lately. I don't know what's wrong with ... it.” The man sighed. “So you can't leave. That’s just great.” “Do you know anything about … what is this thing … a Honda?” “Oh, for pity's sake,” he grumbled. “Let me push it to my shed so I can work on it. Hopefully I can get you going and out of here.” He grabbed the bike and pushed into the underbrush. “Sweet! Thanks!” she said, picking her way along behind him. “I'm Pietra Stevens. Who are you?” “Harold Wolf, if you must know. They call me 'Wolfie'.” “Everyone calls me 'Lil' Red' 'cuz I'm short and, well, look at my hair.” “Cute,” Wolfie said in a tone that showed he didn't mean it. He led her to a clearing, a large old shed at one edge. “Make yourself useful. Hold your damn bike up while I open the door.” He grabbed the handle of the overhead door with one big paw and lifted it easily. “Whoa, dude,” Pietra exclaimed. “Nice shop! Are you some kind of mechanic?” “When I need to be.” He lifted the motorcycle onto a stand and inspected it, picking at the mess of dirt and bits of leaves around the engine. “Do you ever wash this thing? Clean the air filter or spark plug? Do any maintenance?” “I had a guy put air in the tires once, but other than that, no.” “Why not?” “Machines aren't my thing, ya know? They're just supposed to be there and do their job.” “Typical chick,” he growled quietly. He blew the dirt off with an airgun and began disassembling parts around the motor. “Hey, I'm a musician, okay? That's what's important to me.” “Musician? Surprised you can hear, riding this ...