Grandma’s Smile – A Tale for Adults (Part I)
Warning: This tale is for adults only. It contains themes of extreme blood play, pain, and domination. All in the context of consensual edge play.
This is the first part of a two-part adult fairy tale. The second part – much more vulgar and explicit – is available exclusively on my FetLife profile (Svar_fabricare). Link at the end.
Long, long ago, in a dense, shadowy forest where the trees whispered forbidden secrets, there lived a spoiled adult brat named Red Thongs. He was no innocent little boy – oh no. He was a lazy, stinking slacker who once smart-mouthed his way through university until he got expelled. Now he spent his days sitting at home, playing console games, and wasting time on amusements, ignoring his mother’s pleas for help. Under his ordinary jeans he wore his red thongs – because he loved to provoke, to feel sexy, and to shock anyone who might guess what was underneath. A malicious smirk never left his lips.
One day his mother called out with a sigh:
– Go to grandma at last, take her this basket with wine and cake. Grandma is sick and lying in bed. Maybe for once you’ll be useful.
Red Thongs rolled his eyes and set the controller aside.
– Fine – he muttered, but in his head he was already planning how to pick some forbidden berries along the way and maybe meet someone he could tease.
So he wandered down the path, whistling provocatively and swaying his hips, when suddenly from the shadows between the trees emerged the Wolf. Huge, black as the deepest night, with fur gleaming like steel in the moonlight. Eyes glowed predatorily, and fangs gleamed white against the darkness.
– Where are you going? – the Wolf asked in a low, throaty voice that made the ground tremble. His gaze slid down to the brat’s hips, as if he already knew what lay beneath the jeans.
– To grandma, you mutt – Red Thongs replied with a cheeky smirk, adjusting the belt of his jeans. – And what about you? Are you a pervert lurking in the woods for boys or what?
The Wolf only smiled broadly, showing his fangs, and vanished into the bushes. In his head the plan was already forming. He ran ahead, reached grandma’s cottage, gagged the old woman and locked her in the cellar, then dressed in her pink dressing gown. The soft, fluffy fabric draped over his black fur, but didn’t quite cover it – here and there black hairs poked through, and the dressing gown was already starting to tear at the seams under the tension. The Wolf lay down in bed, waiting, his heart pounding to the rhythm of the coming game.
When Red Thongs finally knocked and entered, he heard a weak, squeaky voice:
– Come in, darling…
The brat tossed the basket onto the table, approached the bed, wrinkling his nose. Something was wrong – the air smelled of dampness and wild fur.
– Grandma, why do you have such big ears? – he asked, sitting on the bed.
– To hear you better, my dear – the Wolf replied, trying to sound weak, but his gaze slid over the brat.
– And why do you have such big eyes?
– To see you better.
– And why do you have such big hands?
– To hug you better – said the Wolf, extending a paw that barely fit in the sleeve.
Red Thongs stepped closer, with that malicious smirk of his, and tugged at the dressing gown.
– And why do you have such big teeth, grandma?
The Wolf couldn’t hold back. He bared his fangs in a wide, predatory grin.
– So I can bite you better! – he growled and lunged at the brat.
At that moment the dressing gown began to tear – the seams strained, the pink fabric ripped in small, crunchy cracks, revealing black, glossy fur underneath. Not all at once – only small fragments: here on the paw, here on the back, and here on the rump, exposing the tail. The cracks spread like a spiderweb, and from each one emerged black hair or a flash of the Wolf’s predatory nature. The grandma disguise flaked off in tiny petals, falling onto the bedding like confetti from hell.
The Wolf grabbed Red Thongs by the shoulders, flipped him onto the bed, and pulled down his jeans, revealing the red thongs. The brat cried out – a mixture of fear and excitement – as the Wolf leaned in and slid his warm, wet tongue along the boy’s neck, tasting the skin and marking his prey. At the same time his paw slid lower, closing around the brat’s hardening cock – throbbing in rhythm with the quickened breath and the coming pain.
The Wolf pulled from under the pillow something pink, soft, innocent at first glance.
It was a whip. On one side sweet, pink, like grandma’s dressing gown. On the other – eight steel fangs, ready to bite.
The first strike was gentle – the pink side brushed Red Thongs’ ass like a caress. The brat snorted with laughter.
– Is that all you’ve got, grandma?
The Wolf smiled wider. He flipped the whip. The paint on the pink side began to crack – slowly, in tiny flakes – revealing black cracks underneath. Not the whole black Wolf at once, only fragments: here a piece, there a piece, here and there a black vein. The cracks spread like a spiderweb, and from each one seeped the black, predatory nature of the whip.
The second strike fell hard. The steel fangs sank into the skin, piercing it, drawing bloody lines. Red Thongs cried out for real – the pain exploded hot and sharp, and warm blood began to trickle down his thighs, flowing in red streams onto the bedding, mixing with the paint flakes.
Third, fourth, fifth… Each strike harder. The paint flaked off more and more in tiny petals, until the whip became a mosaic of pink and black, and the fangs bit deeper, leaving bleeding crescents and raised welts that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The brat writhed, tears streamed down his cheeks, but in his voice there was something more – a plea for more, as pain turned into ecstasy.
The Wolf, wanting to hear every sound, grabbed the brat by the hair and pulled his head back – the moans no longer died in the pillow, but echoed loudly through the room, mingling with the crack of the whip.
The Wolf licked the steel fangs of the whip, looking at his work – the brat’s ass burning, covered with perfect marks, bleeding and glistening with sweat.
– And what, smartass? – he whispered. – Still laughing at grandma?
Red Thongs lay breathless, tears on his face and a strange, blissful smile.
– More… – he rasped. – More, grandma…
And the Wolf only laughed and raised the whip again, the paint cracking further, revealing more black nature.
End of Part One.
Want to know what happened next when the Wolf really got going? Part Two – much more vulgar and explicit – is available exclusively on my FetLife profile (Svar_fabricare). Go here →
Link to the Second Part on Fetlife
(Warning: Grandma’s Smile is a tool for extreme blood play. For experienced, responsible adults only. Risk of serious injury, infection, scarring. Use with full awareness and consent.)
Link to product: Grandma’s Smile Leather Whip – Innocent Fang
Grandma's Smile