Un romancier doit savoir raconter des histoires. Toutes sortes d’histoires, mêmes celles un peu particulières que lui réclament les trois jeunes femmes qui l’entourent et l’empêchent d’écrire son roman. Mais comment leur résister, elles ont de tels arguments… Alors il raconte, il revisite à sa manière, libertine et pleine d’humour, quelques-uns des contes de son enfance. On croise Pinocchio qui n’a pas que le nez qui s’allonge, trois petits cochons, non pardon, trois petites cochonnes bien délurées, ou des Petites Filles modèles qui ne le sont pas tant que ça. Quant à la mère Michel, elle a perdu son chat, mais de quel chat s’agit-il ? Le romancier est content, ses histoires plaisent. Les trois coquines sont comblées. Et les petits chaperons n’en finissent plus de rougir.

A novelist must know how to tell stories—all kinds of stories, even the rather peculiar ones requested by the three young women around him who keep distracting him from writing his novel. But how could he resist? Their arguments are... quite convincing. So he tells stories, reimagining in his own libertine and humorous style some of the fairy tales from his childhood. Along the way, we meet a Pinocchio whose nose isn’t the only thing that grows, three little pigs—no, wait, three rather uninhibited little piglets—and some so-called model little girls who turn out to be not so well-behaved after all. And as for Mother Michel, she’s lost her cat... but which cat are we talking about? The novelist is pleased—his stories are a hit. The three cheeky muses are thrilled. And the little Red Riding Hoods keep blushing endlessly.