Note: This story was inspired by The Brothers Grimm, Thomas Hardy and Bill Willingham, though I don't doubt they would all be horrified to know it. This contains a kink not normally found in my stories. Suffice it to say, this is an erotic tale and there are only the two characters. This is heading exactly where it appears to be heading from the introduction, so if that is going to creep you out, stop reading before you get to that point. For the rest of you degenerates, I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it Comments are welcomed.
Baby lumbered down the stairs to the kitchen wearing only a pair of trousers held up by suspenders. It was at breakfast that he missed his parents the most. Before they moved to a condo in Arizona to escape the harsh forest winters, Baby always awoke to the smell of porridge. While he had often complained that it was too hot, looking back, everything Mama Bear cooked seemed just right.
But the price of independence was making his own breakfast. He was, after all, a big bear despite his unfortunately juvenile name. He put the water on to boil. He hummed an old bear song and scratched himself. It was spring, he realized, noticing his morning wood still hadn't receded. He really ought to start thinking about finding himself a mate, he told himself. She-bears could be so demanding, though. He sighed and wondered if it was worth the bother. What he really wanted was someone to make him porridge and that was a rare she-bear indeed.
The water came to a boil and Baby added the porridge. He tried to add it slowly, stirring constantly, but as always it came out much lumpier than Mama's. He poured it into a bowl-Papa Bear's as a mater of fact, since Baby was far from being a little bear. The porridge was too hot to eat, but Baby Bear had a solution for that. He pulled the old brown jug off the top shelf. Before he had migrated, Papa taught Baby the ancient Bear family secret: how to mix honey and berry juice with mash, ferment it, distill it, and make a liquor that could knock that would knock a 500 pound grizzly on his ass.
Baby poured in a generous portion and stirred it into the hot porridge. The aroma filled the kitchen and Baby growled appreciatively. It would more than make up for any lumps.
He knew he should wait for a good ten minutes, but it smelled so damned good that he couldn't resist. He took a tiny spoonful and cautiously put it in his mouth.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, spitting out the scalding porridge and then panting with his burnt tongue out. He eyed the brown jug and grabbed it. He took a swig to cool his tongue. The alcohol burned even more. He squealed between clenched jaws but swallowed. The blessed liquor worked its wonders and took the edge off the pain. Baby sighed, then glared reproachfully at his porridge. It was the fourth time this month he'd been burned and he was seriously considering muesli. He poured an extra helping from the brown jug into the hot mush. He figured he deserved it.
He impatiently stalked about the cottage, waiting for his porridge to cool. It was only then that he realized, underneath his growling stomach, he had other biological needs vying for his attention. He stared skeptically at the bathroom. Mama had thought indoor plumbing was the best thing since huckleberries. Baby couldn't deny it was convenient. But, damnit, he was a bear! There were some things that should go without saying. He headed out into the woods.
Goldilocks was walking about on the early spring morning. It was unusually warm for April and she had wanted to wear her favorite cornflower blue sundress. Puberty had been very kind to Goldilocks, gracing her with the biggest, firmest pair of tits in the whole village. Her dress showed them off perfectly and she had spent the morning delighting in how the men and boys of the village fell all over themselves when they saw her. After a while, though, she wanted peace and quiet, so she made sure she wasn't being followed and ducked into the woods for a pleasant walk alone.
She wasn't really intending it, but somehow she wandered to the home of the three bears. She realized with a start that it had been exactly 10 years that morning since she had first broken into the quaint woodland cottage as a presumptuous 8-year old.
Goldie had taken quite a fright the first time she had been caught in the bear's hours. She didn't know it, but Papa bear had spiked Baby's porridge so that he would sleep deeply while he had a rough tumble with Mama Bear. She had ended up falling asleep in Baby Bear's bed after drunkenly trashing their house, then awoken to the cross and growling beasts. She had screamed and run for her life, vowing never to return.
But when she got older, she found out that her fears were unjustified. Mama Bear, it seems, was a 7th day Adventist and although her husband and son wanted no part of going to human churches, they did concede to her insistence on pacifism and vegetarianism. Since that revelation she had been even more cavalier about breaking into the bear's cottage than she had been the first time. It gave her a thrill and Goldie lived for thrills. Not that her larceny was limited to ursine domiciles. Indeed, there wasn't a shop in the entire village she hadn't entered after hours at one point or another. She had become a master thief, leaving little trace of her passing. She'd come a long way from breaking chairs.
Yet something always brought her back here, to her first crime scene. There was a craving she never seemed able to fill. At first, she thought it was the porridge. But while Mama Bear's porridge was undeniably delicious, it never seemed to be the ticket to heaven that the first purloined bowl was.
Goldie sat down and grabbed the spoon. She took a big scoop and tested it against her pouting pink lips to make sure it wasn't too hot, then popped it into her mouth. She raised her delicately sculpted blonde eyebrows in wonder. This was it! This was the taste she had discovered so long ago! This was what she had been looking for every time she broke into the bears' cottage!
She grinned wickedly and started shoveling the stuff into her mouth. Even with the lumps, it was just right!
Goldie's head began to swim as if she had been drinking wine. The young men in her village were always offering her wine, so she certainly recognized the feeling. The porridge tasted better than any wine she had ever had, though.
Goldie giggled as she finally made the connection with the porridge and her subsequent wrecking of the bears' cottage as a young girl.
"I was drunk!" she exclaimed out loud.
The idea struck her as hilarious. Of course, she was a big girl now. She could certainly handle her porridge. And damn it was good!
"It's juuuusss right!" she mumbled to herself, then stuffed her mouth with another spoonful of the potent mush.
"I really oughta go," she told herself, noticing the bowl was half empty. "Don' wanna get caught like the lass time! Maybe I'll have juss one more bite."
She shoveled in a big one, then hiccupped and giggled, spurting porridge all over the table.
"Tha one doezen count!" she told herself, then hiccupped again. "I still get anozzer one cuz tha one din' count."
The next twelve bites didn't count either, for one reason or another, and by then she had forgotten why she was counting bites to begin with. She had porridge on her face, in her cleavage, in her hair. It didn't matter, though, because Goldilocks was feeling juuust right!
Goldie was licking out the bowl when she heard the door open.
"What the fuck?" said an ursine voice.
Goldie dropped the bowl with a clatter and screwed up her face to see who had caught her. It was a big brown bear wearing pants and suspenders. He was quite a bit bigger than when she had last seen him, but even through the fog of liquor he was unmistakable.
"Hey there, Baby Bear!" she slurred. "I was juss helpin' myself to some <hip> porridge. An' iss jussss right!"
She giggled and snorted drunkenly.
.... There is more of this story ...