In the Forests of the Night

by Vanessa de Sade

  “Fuck, I’m bursting my zip here,” DJ whispered as the men retreated, spent, and two shaven-headed women in studded leathers moved in on the girl and went down on her like ravening animals. “My dick’s up like a fucking cop’s night stick.”

  “You can take it out if you want,” Kirby replied breathlessly, his heart beating like a drum, adding quickly, “it’s not like I haven’t seen it in the showers or anything...”

  DJ looked at him for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with suppressed excitement, before he finally said, “I will if you will…”

  Kirby took a deep breath and nodded okay, loosening the stud on his Levi’s and jerking his zip down, pulling the fly open and revealing the inflamed head of his big cock that was already sticking up over the waistband of his boxers.

  DJ gulped and said slowly, “God, you’re hard. Will you pull your pants all the way down?” and Kirby nodded, lifting his ass as he wrestled his jeans and shorts off, half-sitting, half-lying on the bed in just his t-shirt, his long body a golden statuette in the light, his cock sticking up in front of him like a gnarly tree growing out of smooth desert sands.

  He looked over at DJ. “Now you,” he commanded quietly.

  DJ nodded and pulled off his tee. He spent his days in the gym and his chest was like a Calvin Klein poster boy’s, ripped and oiled, all his body hair waxed away. He hesitated for a second then unfastened his jeans, lifting his butt like Kirby had done and kicking his clothes into the darkness of the room. DJ was naked now, save for his tiny tight white underpants that showed his swollen cock perfectly, thick and erect and curled up against his body, his balls fat and taut below.

  He fingered the waistband nervously and smiled. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, man,” he said softly, pulling the flimsy thong off and releasing the beast, a hard angry monster that reared up into the room, jerking and thrashing and demanding attention.

  “It’ll be our secret,” Kirby whispered, looking up and down his friend’s body appreciatively, his eyes finally coming to rest on DJ’s monster cock, red and angry against his bronzed skin. “How long you been body shaving?” he asked, his hand gripping his own dick and starting to slowly masturbate.

  “Since I started working out,” DJ replied, taking up his own shaft and jerking savagely on it. “Fuck, man, I need this…”

  “Let’s watch the movie,” Kirby said, changing the subject and letting his eye wander back to the screen as DJ nestled closer, allowing his elbow to brush against Kirby’s inflamed erection as he tended to his own pressing need.

  The two skinhead women in the film had been vigorously dildo-fucking the little tanned girl, and now one peed in her face while the other continued her synthetic ministrations, the movie fading out to cheesy synthesiser music as the girl bucked and screamed out her outrageous orgasm.

  “Jeez, that was brutal, man,” DJ breathed, his hand busy up and down his shaft. “Is there more like this?”

  “Yeah, he buys these things on the black market and has them transferred to discs. There’ll be two or three together. The next one’ll start in a minute,” Kirby replied, running a cautious finger down the knobbly ridge of DJ’s prick and gently squeezing his balls while the other boy continued to masturbate. “I’ve never felt another guy before but I really want to do it to you. Can I touch you, man?”

  DJ didn’t answer but moved his hand away to gulp down another drink instead, giving Kirby free access, and he traced gingerly round his friend’s balls and then up the shaft, licking his fingers and stroking the head before giving it a squeeze, pleased to see a little drop of clear white pre-cum immediately appear from DJ’s open cock-slit as he did so. Encouraged, he gripped the intoxicated boy’s cock more firmly and ran up and down the length of it, DJ’s hips immediately thrusting upwards in sync with his stroking.

  “Shit, Kirby,” DJ gasped. “That feels so-oo good. Oh my god, man. What the fuck is this?”

  Kirby tore his eyes off DJ’s throbbing cock and looked up at the screen. After the garish colours of the previous film, the new movie looked almost black and white, its colouring faded like an old magic lantern slide that had been hand-tinted a hundred years ago. The picture looked European and arty and had been shot in flickering sixteen-millimetre on an old Czech studio back-lot forest set, dark spindly papier-mâché trees everywhere, and looked about fifty years old by the scratchy lines dancing across it.

  A wobbly hand-held camera came to rest on a tiny cottage window, stencil-coloured a warm canary yellow, then faded to a shot of a jerkily animated stop-motion magpie bearing a title card which read, “Once upon a time…” in Gothic script. Inside the room a buxom girl, naked except for a hooded cloak coloured a brilliant vermillion red, sat on the checkered kitchen table cloth with her plump legs wide apart, masturbating her puffy pussy. In the style of the era her considerable bush had been shaved, but she had left little traces of hair on the hinge of her thighs, and, suddenly aware that she was being seen, she smiled and parted her pussy lips, pushing two fingers deep inside herself as she did so.

  There was no soundtrack save a strange discordant orchestral score, so the camera cut to a close-up of her face to show her gasp, and Kirby sat bolt upright with shock. For there, on the screen, in this weird old porno flick was Eleanor, younger and a little slimmer, it was true, but unmistakably his buxom companion nonetheless. But it couldn’t be. This movie was at least half a century old and Eleanor was only about forty. It couldn’t be her, and yet there she was.

  But his cock had almost doubled in size seeing her on the screen like this and he felt DJ’s hand grip him and begin a teasing exploration.

  “Fuck, you really dig this chick, don’t you,” DJ laughed awkwardly, testing the girth in his hand with two stretched fingers. “But, as I’m not into fat babes, I think that this is my cue to do something that I’m sure to regret in the morning.”

  Kirby almost came on the spot, realising what was about to happen, but he lay back submissively as DJ’s hungry mouth began its long journey down his body.

  “Don’t be too long or you’ll miss it,” Kirby gasped, pushing at his friend’s head as Eleanor’s fingers slid urgently in and out of her slit, working up to a frenzied orgasm, her whole body shaking with it as she mutely came.

  How could Eleanor be in this movie? Kirby found himself wondering as he pushed his cock up into DJ’s face. Unless, of course…it isn’t her and this is her mom, the backing singer, over in Europe making a secret porno, and here’s Eleanor sitting in the dark touching herself watching me getting a blow job while I watch her mom frigging herself. Man, it doesn’t get any weirder than this.

  DJ’s tongue had reached cock, and he was licking all the salty fluids off the fully exposed head, teasing Kirby and making him wait for his reward. Kirby arched upward, trying to push his big, by now, hurting, dick into his friend’s mouth.

  “Fuck, you’re one horny dude,” DJ gasped, rubbing his face against Kirby’s fat and sticky dick.

  “From the other side, DJ,” Kirby gasped, desperate. “Do it from the other side, please, so that I can see your ass in the mirror.” And Eleanor can see it too, he added in his mind.

  DJ laughed self-consciously but obliged, shifting over, his tight white buns and heavy balls neatly framed in the looking glass as he finally went down on Kirby, taking the whole aching cockhead into his mouth and sucking on it like a lollypop, his firm, slightly rough lips running up and down the length of the throbbing member.

  In the movie Eleanor had stepped out of the cottage and into the woods, still naked save for her fluttering red cloak and hood, turning this way and that to show off her magnificent bottom, then bending to feign picking a paper flower so that her huge tits hung heavy and pendulous as she did so.

  Her big body was incredibly hot and Kirby began to thrust into DJ’s mouth in earnest, holding his head as he did so, and he hovered on the brink, about to fi
nally abandon himself to it when the black wolf appeared on screen.

  And this beast was no animation, no guy in a fur suit, but a real, honest-to-fucking-god wolf, with sharp pointed ears, a sleek ebony pelt and very hungry red eyes.

  Red Riding Hood looked at the wolf in pantomime and the Big Bad Wolf looked back, licking his lips and showing off two rows of razor-sharp incisors. Girl and wolf faced each other for a long moment and then the animal reared up on his hind legs, his big wolf’s cock red and erect, like stiff raw meat, and Red Riding Hood went down upon her bended knees…

  Chapter Four

  ♦♦♦♦

  Eleanor looked out from the screen and smiled at him, and Kirby just had time to utter, “Oh my God!” before he ejaculated. The wolf’s gnarled prick on the screen changing to his own aching cock as it came and came, covering Red Riding Hood’s face with glistening-white spider-webby strands of creamy satin. While, in the real world, DJ pushed a finger into his ass and sucked hard, dragging the orgasm out of him, bringing relief so deep it was painful, like a jagged thorn bush being pulled through a tiny incision in the most sensitive part of his body.

  And behind the glass, in that other parallel world, he could feel the heat of Eleanor’s own climax, just as he felt himself released from the witch’s curse. With his big bestial cock still pulsing pearl jam, he fell back into the cool embrace of the bed’s goose-down quilt and was lost.

  Chapter Five

  ♦♦♦♦

  DJ was kneeling over him, his gigantic cock bouncing in front of his face.

  “No one ever gets to know about this, never, ever, ever. You got that, man?”

  Kirby nodded, taking DJ’s cock in both hands. “Yeah, I got it. Now, do you want me to suck your dick or what?”

  But DJ just shook his head, his face saying no while his big cock said yes, yes, yes. “No, man,” he whispered very, very softly. “I don’t want you to blow me. I want you to fuck me…”

  Kirby looked at him incredulously. “You want me to what?” he said, leaving the words hanging in the air like frozen droplets in a winter forest.

  DJ nodded. “Please,” was all he said.

  Kirby stroked his prick, very tenderly, his own cock up hard again and ready for action. “I don’t want to hurt you, man,” he began, but DJ interrupted.

  “There’s stuff in there,” he whispered, indicating the night stand where a small pewter box stood, the words, ‘Use me,’ elaborately carved on its lid. “You can use that on me, I don’t mind if you hurt me a little.”

  He lifted the lid and the room filled with the aroma of a thousand dead flowers, sweet and cloying, yet pungent and stimulating. Inside there was a dark aquamarine jelly, the colour of the distant ocean, and DJ put some on his fingers and started massaging it into Kirby’s cock, making it as slick as a rain-soaked marble statue, all veiny and shiny.

  “Come on, do me with this man, I’m desperate for you,” he gasped hoarsely, turning his back to Kirby and parting his legs, still kneeling on the bed. “I need this bad, Kirby!”

  Kirby picked up the cask of aromatic gel and put some on his hands, his fingers plunging into its silky depths as if they were sinking into dark water or maybe a mermaid’s cold pussy. Then he gently parted DJ’s eager butt cheeks and began to stroke around his anus, the slippery liquid quickly letting him glide into the tight orifice with ease. DJ let out a grunt of pleasure and pushed down, impaling himself on him, and started to rock up and down, lubricating himself impatiently, hungry for Kirby’s cock.

  “Come on, never mind the fingers, do it man,” he urged, and Kirby let his two oiled digits slide out and guided his huge glistening cock into the hungry hole that craved it.

  He could imagine the heat of Eleanor’s pussy as his cock-head slid in, and, impatient, he thrust roughly forward but slipped out again, and DJ reached round and gripped his boner with his hand and guided him back, this time with Kirby pushing slowly but firmly until he felt himself gripped by the muscle ring, then thrusting forward.

  DJ gasped as if all the breath had been knocked out of him as Kirby’s huge cock slid all the way up inside him. “Jesus-fucking-Christ, that’s intense, man,” he wheezed. “What does that feel like to you?”

  “Like getting a blow job from a vacuum cleaner,” Kirby gasped, thrusting again and going in deeper still. “Like being in a shrink-to-fit pussy.”

  “Jeez, I need you to do this now,” DJ gasped. “You need to do it now and do it really, really hard!”

  Kirby nodded and reached round for DJ’s cock, gripping it firmly as he propelled himself into his friend, his lips on the back of his neck, thrusting hard and slamming into him with all the force that he could muster, feeling the other’s cock jolting under him as he savagely pulled on it, his own burning member pushing hard and roughly into the oily muscular ass.

  He heard DJ cry out and then he was lost, his orgasm bursting out of him like flaming lava from a volcano, and he felt DJ shoot as well, his copious white cum flying onto the bed linen while his own scalding liquid filled up the void.

  Chapter Six

  ♦♦♦♦

  They still talk about Kirby and Eleanor’s disappearance in the bars downtown, when the party’s getting a glow on and the first rays of dawn creep up over the hills. Some say that they sped away at the dead of night in Lionel’s vintage silver Cadillac, burning up in a ferocious roadside smash, their faces too dismembered for the cops to ID them. While others insist that it was the wild animals that dragged their bleeding bodies off into the dark forest and feasted on them all the winter long.

  The optimists, of course, are more romantically inclined and think that they both got away, that they crossed the border in the dawn, and that they’re still living in some humble hacienda, Kirby playing guitar for tips, Eleanor telling fortunes.

  DJ knows different, of course, but he’s not saying anything. He’s married now and getting his young bride pregnant at an alarming rate, and what he knows about the night when the big mirror shattered like the Snow Queen’s ice castle and Eleanor stepped out to claim her prince is a secret that he’ll take to the grave with him.

  But you, of course, dear reader, know better than anyone what really went on that fateful night, and we can safely say that Kirby and Eleanor are not dead and that they did indeed live happily ever after in that enchanted land beyond the looking glass…

  Handsome and Gertrude

  ♦♦♦♦

  Story Four

  Part One

  Where we meet The Girl, follow a trail of Breadcrumbs and end up at the Gingerbread House

  ♦♦♦♦

  Heartbreak House stood two blocks south of Fifth Avenue’s Museum Mile. With a view of the park from its privileged upper stories, brooding in its own shady canyon and untouched by all but a brief glimpse of the noonday sun, its quiet aspect revealed not even a hint of the river of alimony that fuelled its very existence.

  Inside, processions of sober-suited lawyers tiptoed reverently up and down the house’s plush-carpeted labyrinth of sedate one-bedroom apartments, delivering their monthly cheques to the nut-brown former trophy wives who populated the building’s main arteries, living out their days in constrained luxury at the expense of grudging ex-husbands. Fifth Avenue store bags may have littered their trash, and masseuses and aromatherapists flitted silently from door to door, doing what they could to restore the deteriorating complexions of their patrons, but the main topics of conversation at Heartbreak were always of the past. Past apartments, better clothes and, of course, lost youth.

  “They have all had their day, no?” the Mexican cleaning-women joked, far out of the earshot of their employers on the echoing back stairs as they trundled heavy buckets in and out of the hushed brownstone cathedral. “Those shameless painted putas, put out to grass like old horses on the range.”

  “Si, si,” the others nodded. “Though even o
ut to grass they are richer than all our families put together, mi estimada. And that one upstairs, she is richer than all of them and all of us too.”

  Another chorus of “si” would ring out, and even in the smart drawing rooms of the residents, the talk would eventually come around to Constantina Cavarlini and her legendary bank balance.

  The ex-wives club all called her Norma Desmond, a nickname awarded in honour of her mausoleum-like dwelling house, an Art Deco palace spanning the entire top floor of the building like a gilded cancer, most of its opulent rooms shut up and shrouded in dustsheets, whispering ghost chambers for the disconsolate Constantina to haunt like a wraith. Some said that she was now thin as a rake, starving herself in mourning for her last husband — a wealthy Greek shipping magnate rumoured to be richer than even Onassis. Others insisted that she had grown obesely fat and was eating herself to death by degree, and crumpled cake boxes redolent with the scents of rancid cream were reputed to be blocking her trash chute like the furred arteries of her late husband’s heart.

  Of course, no-one really knew, and although Maisie Dellamore claimed to have been inside the penthouse once, just before the death of husband number four, it was so long ago and Maisie was so old and doddery on her feet these days, nothing she said could be believed, though this didn’t stop a regular procession of painted tabbies gathering at her feet each Thursday when she was “at home” for afternoon tea and scandal.

  The real truth was, however, that no-one had seen Constantina since the funeral of husband numero cuatro in 1995 when she had stunned New York by following the casket on foot in what everyone agreed was a black hand-beaded wedding gown, the train, it was said, over twenty feet in length, her face completely shrouded in layer upon layer of black net, her feet bare and bleeding as she made her solitary walk along the route of sighs.