Under the Tail and Other Stories
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 21
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 21 - Hello, everybody! This is Dragonpig. I'm going to be writing a collection of stories within the anthropomorphic, or furry, genre. Some will be short stories, some will be novel-length, and others will fall somewhere in between. Yes, some of these stories will be quite explicit, while others won't be. I'm going to keep this series going until I either get bored or find that people just aren't interested in it. I'd really enjoy hearing your opinions and thoughts on my writing. Have a good one!
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Romantic Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Fairy Tale Humor Vignettes War Zoophilia Science Fiction Aliens Alternate History Space Furry Sharing Incest Mother Son Brother Sister DomSub FemaleDom Light Bond Harem Polygamy/Polyamory White Male White Female Anal Sex Analingus Bestiality Exhibitionism Fisting Flatulence Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Safe Sex Squirting Water Sports Big Breasts Public Sex Teacher/Student Nudism
The Peasant Girl and Her Red Hood
The morning began as all mornings did - with work.
I carried the water buckets from the well, my shoulders aching with the familiar weight. Two trips today. Mother needed extra for the washing. At the well, old Thomas nodded to me, his eyes lingering a moment too long on the way my dress pulled across my chest. I pretended not to notice, as I always did.
“You’re growing into a fine woman,” he said, as he’d said a dozen times before. “Your father must be thinking about matches soon.”
I smiled politely and lifted my buckets. Twelve years old, and already they spoke of me this way. As if I were ripe fruit to be plucked and preserved before I spoiled.
At the baker’s, I traded eggs for bread. Martin’s son William was there, supposedly learning the trade, but his eyes followed me more than they watched the ovens. He was perhaps sixteen, apprenticed, already thinking himself a man.
“You have a leaf in your hair,” he said, reaching as if to brush it away.
I stepped back. “I can manage, thank you.”
His smile faltered. “No harm meant. A girl like you ought to have someone looking after her.”
A girl like you. They all said it. The miller, the smith’s apprentice, even Father Dominic’s nephew visiting from the next village. They looked at me with want in their eyes, but Father’s voice echoed in my head: Not them. Not those boys. They have nothing. You’re meant for better - a widower with land, perhaps, or a merchant’s second son. Someone who can provide. Someone appropriate.
But what made them appropriate? Their coin? Their age? William made me laugh sometimes. Thomas’s nephew had kind eyes. Yet I was supposed to ignore what I felt, ignore that warmth that spread through my belly when they smiled at me, because Father had decided they weren’t suitable.
I was old enough to work like a woman. Old enough to carry water, bake bread, mend clothes, mind the younger children. Old enough that men looked at me with hunger. Old enough that they spoke of marriage.
But not old enough, apparently, to choose.
At the cloth merchant’s stall, I examined thread for Mother. The merchant himself stood too close, his breath warm on my neck.
“Such a pretty thing,” he murmured. “Shame your father’s so particular. Could do well for yourself, you could, with the right arrangement.”
I moved away, clutching the thread. Everywhere I went, they watched. They wanted. They hinted and suggested and pressed close. And I was meant to smile and deflect and wait for Father to decide my fate.
That afternoon, Mother handed me the basket.
“Your grandmother’s not well,” she said, tucking in the cloth over bread and cheese and a small pot of honey. “Take this to her. Stay on the path. Don’t talk to strangers. Come straight home.”
The usual warnings. The same ones she’d given me a hundred times. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t stray from the path. Don’t let anyone lead you astray.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
I pulled my red hood over my hair and took the basket. The cloak had been my mother’s, then mine - practical, warm, the color still bright despite years of wear. It marked me as I walked. The girl in the red hood. The peasant girl with the basket.
The girl who did as she was told.
The forest path was familiar. I’d walked it since I was small enough that the basket dragged on the ground. Grandmother’s cottage was only an hour through the woods - dangerous, perhaps, but no more dangerous than the village with its hungry eyes and grasping hands.
At least in the forest, no one pretended their hunger was protection.
I was halfway there when I heard him - a rustle in the underbrush, then his voice, smooth and amused.
“Where are you going, little one, all alone?”
I turned. He stepped from between the trees - tall, lean, dark-haired. A hunter, perhaps, or a woodsman. There was something wolfish about his smile, something that should have frightened me.
It didn’t.
“To my grandmother’s,” I said, lifting my chin. “With food. She’s ill.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.