In the Forests of the Night

by Vanessa de Sade

  He nodded, almost creaming on the spot, and fumbled hastily in his wallet for forty pounds which he handed over with an alacrity that was nothing short of embarrassing. The fat woman laughed. “Keen, ain’t he!” she said to her unseen companion.

  “Oh yes, he is that. Put him down on my tab, I’ll be his hostess tonight.”

  “You’re hostessing? And for twenty? Are you feeling horny or what?”

  “Call it an introductory discount,” the woman laughed, throatily. Then she leaned forward into the light of the tiny window, confirming his certainty that she was, indeed, the lady he had met in the grocery store. “Go and watch the tableau, kid. I’ll join you after the show.”

  He opened his mouth to say something but no words came. Instead, he heard the inner door buzz and swing open and, taking a deep breath, he walked eagerly into the welcoming darkness within.

  ♦♦♦♦

  Inside Tom Thumb’s no concession had been made to full-sized people and Stanhope suddenly felt like a giant as he entered its plush red velvet interior. The cramped, low-ceilinged room was fitted out like a tiny Victorian theatre with an ornate gilded proscenium arch at one side, the remainder of the auditorium devoted to seating, and he eased himself into a soft chair as the lights in the overhead chandelier dimmed and a spotlight danced tantalisingly across the heavy red drapes of the little stage’s front tabs.

  And all around him the dark shapes of dormant men suddenly came to life and gazed hungrily at that spot of light like a wolf pack scenting a fresh kill, and when the curtains parted there stood the woman who had started it all for him, looking unbelievably delicious in a red sequined décolleté dress that was a scaled down copy of Marilyn Monroe’s ensemble in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

  “Hello and welcome to Tom Thumb’s famous tableau,” she drawled. “I’m your hostess, Lorelei Lee, and we have ten lovelies for you tonight in one of our most popular shows ever — the Naked History of the World. So, without further ado, I give you the Tom Thumb cabaret!”

  A groan of barely-suppressed desire echoed around the tiny theatre as the red and gold curtains rose with a swish of hidden wheels and a cold draft swept the auditorium as the stage was revealed. At first it seemed all in darkness. But, as a pale light began to glow, a backcloth of sky was revealed and Stanhope’s eyes made out a crooked apple tree and a tiny woman, naked save for her long blonde wig, standing in the jagged shadow of its papier-mâché branches.

  Music swelled sonorously from hidden loud speakers and the girl began to dance, a slow languorous ballet where she spun and lifted her little legs high, her cunt so smoothly depilated and her long deep slit on show, all pink and glistening in the spotlight.

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Stanhope breathed to himself, his cock so hard under his jeans that it was hurting him. But he didn’t care.

  “The Temptation of Eve,” Lorelei’s voice boomed over the swirling music, “where our heroine loses her innocence to the evil of the snake. Sound familiar, boys?”

  There was cheer as Eve bent over backwards, her legs akimbo and pussy split open like a peach, before she pirouetted off and three more tiny women entered, two naked, the last dressed in an Egyptian costume, as the tree set was quickly masked by an old painted backdrop of the Nile that slid down soundlessly from the fly tower.

  The music became Eastern in tempo as the two naked girls proceeded to undress the third woman, Lorelei announcing, “The Bath of Cleopatra. Am I wrong, but is there a snake involved here too, boys?”

  Some men laughed, but Stanhope only groaned, in the seventh heaven of delight as he recognised the fat older woman from the box office beneath the Cleopatra wig. The slave girls disrobed her, baring her huge breasts, the nipples rubbery and erect, the aureoles huge and round like circles of treacle. “Please let her be hairy,” he breathed silently. Moments later his prayers were granted as the last of her costume hit the ground, revealing a thick reddy-blonde pelt like tiger fur over her plump cunt.

  ♦♦♦♦

  And so it went on, fat girls and slim girls, young, old, hairy and shaved; tiny little breasts and huge, heavy tits like udders all bared for his delight in a mockery of the world’s history until the orgy of minuscule pulchritude finally came to its end, the entire cast lined-up naked to take their bows and many curtain calls.

  But, eventually, it was over and the lights came up. The shadowy figures of full-sized men began to drift towards the exit or to the small numbered doors at the far side of the room.

  “Room six, Lorelei’s waiting for you,” the fat box office woman whispered in his ear, pushing a small golden key into his hand as she brushed past, her huge breasts still bare and her body hot and sweaty, the distinct aroma of arousal mixed with her scent. “Make the most of it, kid. It won’t happen twice in this lifetime.”

  He started to say something but she was already gone, enveloped into the embrace of a shadowy man in a tall hat and evening cape who led her through a low door in the wall. Following them, Stanhope counted off the faded gilt numbers until he found the sixth door, tentatively placed his key in the lock and turned it.

  ♦♦♦♦

  Inside the room was cramped and enticing, the walls decorated in old velvet flock with thick Persian rugs on the floor, a snowy white polar bear skin draped over the chaise longue and the whole place lit only by tiny oil lamps on stumpy, carved-leg tables. Lorelei stood by the chaise, still in her sequined dress, one of the shoulder straps having slipped to expose the ivory white of her immaculate breast.

  “So, no need to ask you if you enjoyed the show,” she laughed, looking straight at his cock which was virtually banging on the walls of his jeans and demanding to be released. “I knew when I met you in that shop that I was in the presence of a connoisseur.”

  Stanhope flushed and shut the door quietly behind him. “Lock it,” Lorelei whispered, lighting a small brass nursery lamp that slowly revolved and threw the shadowy silhouettes of men in tall hats onto the walls, making the small room even smaller. “We don’t want to be disturbed by anybody. Or anything…”

  She faltered for a moment and he thought he saw fear in her eyes, but his lust over-rode his natural caution and he brushed her hesitancy away, and seconds later the tiny woman had regained her composure. “Well, Mr. President,” she whispered huskily, “is there something you want to ask me?”

  He blushed again but asked it anyway, the question that had been haunting him ever since he first saw her. “Can, you know…with someone…you know, my size…”

  “…Fuck someone my size?” she clarified for him. “Yes, Stanhope, it’s your lucky night. So, in answer to your question, yes, yes you can. My cunt is just as big and just as deep as a tall woman’s.”

  He groaned something that she couldn’t decipher and she laughed. “So I take it you want to fuck me, then?” she asked mockingly, playing with the remaining shoulder strap.

  He nodded vigorously, like that crazy toy dog that sat on the back shelf of his granddad’s old Austin, and Lorelei laughed again.

  “Subtlety’s not your strong point, is it, kid? Well, let’s see what we can do for you…”

  She deftly slid his ever-present Parka off his shoulders and pulled up his t-shirt, running her hands through the dense fur on his chest. “Now that’s unexpectedly manly,” she purred, running her fingers through the thicket and tracing her way downwards. “I hope I’m going to find more like that.”

  He nodded, quickly unfastening his jeans for her, and she pulled them roughly down in one tug, taking his underpants with them as she went, suddenly hungry for his cock, which bounced up obediently to meet her like a happy puppy, the foreskin unable to contain the hugeness of the large sticky head.

  “Now that is manly,” she whispered, wrapping her tiny fingers in his dense pubic hair and tugging so hard that it hurt. “That I’m going to enjoy fucking. Come closer, boy, I’m not going to bite y
ou. Well, not too much anyway.”

  He brought himself closer to her, his long stiff cock pushing between her big breasts, his hands finally daring to reach out and touch her.

  “That’s it,” she encouraged, rubbing her breasts against him. “Pull my dress down at the front and feel my tits. See? I’m not wearing a bra.”

  He said nothing, the power of speech quite denied him, but reached for the remaining shoulder strap and tugged, her big white breasts tumbling out as the bodice of her dress released them, her puckered nipples sugar pink and erect, tiny blonde hairs encircling the aureoles.

  “You like?” she whispered, her breathing laboured. “Will you cum on them and make them all wet and sticky for me?”

  “If you want me to,” he managed to groan. “But I really want to fuck you…”

  She laughed, a little breathlessly. “All in good time, eager beaver,” she teased. “I want you up inside me too, but you’re far too excited. You’ll cum in about two seconds flat as soon as you’re inside me, and mama wants to be serviced properly. So here, let me have a little fun first…yes, that’s a good boy, slowly now, savour it…”

  Her little hands had wrapped themselves around his shaft as she spoke and she slowly, agonisingly, stretched his foreskin back as far as it would go, hurting him in her eagerness to expose his naked cock-head, bringing her face up close to inhale all his pheromones, then dragging the velvety skin back upwards until he was all covered up, just so she could denude him all over again.

  And he was so aroused that it was a miracle that he hadn’t cum yet, his whole body desperate to drench her in his scalding hot spendings, at the same time reluctant for it ever to stop.

  “I’m your first, aren’t I?” she whispered, breathing heavily. “Mine are the first tits to ever feel the heat of your spunk splashing all over them. That’s an honour, that is. Come on, I need you now, cum for me. Cum for me beautifully…”

  Her words were honeyed, her breasts soft and eager against his cock as she expertly tugged him up and down, and his orgasm rose up inside him like a storm, a tidal wave of passion that shuddered right through his entire body destroying everything in its path.

  “That’s it,” she whispered, feeling his animal power as his whole body tensed. “Cum for me, cum for me beautifully, soak me with your hot salty milk, make my tits as wet as you’ve made the inside of my pussy as I look at you and touch you…”

  The shadowy shapes of the men in top hats seemed to whirl like dervishes around the room as she gripped his cock tightly with both little hands, and the whole chamber began to spin as he felt himself tipping over the edge and into ecstasy as his cock convulsed, shooting out what felt like gallon after gallon onto her creamy white orbs, soaking her tits, face and neck with his scalding desire as he came and came and came.

  ♦♦♦♦

  She pushed him down onto the chaise, tugging at his jeans to free up his legs, his cock like a carved wooden fertility symbol and still pumping the last of his jism.

  “How did you visualise me?” she whispered, clambering onto him, her short curvaceous thighs encircling his naked legs as he lay panting on the snow-white fur of the slain bear.

  “Visualise you?”

  “Yes, when you saw me that first day and ran home to jerk off. How did you see me? Were my tits like this? Or did you make them bigger?” She cupped her large breasts as she spoke, squeezing them tantalisingly and covering her tiny fingers with his cooling semen.

  “No,” he whispered. “Just that size, but with darker nipples, like garnets or pomegranates. Yours are more like sugared almonds…”

  She groaned, grinding her crotch savagely into his thigh. “And did you cum when you thought that? When you played with your long, lean cock and thought about my fulsome little tits?”

  He nodded. “Lots of times.”

  She smiled. A thin, ever-so-sly wolverine smile. “And what about my cunt? How did you visualise my little Munchkin pussy? All pink and shaved or furry like the beast I am?”

  “Furry,” he admitted. “And sleek like a cheetah, thick and blonde with a slit as deep as midnight…”

  She purred like a cat, no, not like a real cat, like Simone Simon being a cat in Cat People, and stretched her little arms submissively above her head. “Time to find out,” she whispered, rubbing herself against his cock like an animal.

  And he needed no second invitation. He reached for her and unfastened her dress, pulling it quickly above her head to gaze at her. She was quite naked, her big breasts full like fleshy little orbs, her hips wide, a rounded stomach and thighs, but the jewel in her crown was perfection itself. Her beautiful cunt was large and heavy with a huge pronounced mound, like the stylised ones he’d once seen in an old book of Victorian erotica, her natural blonde bush thick but translucent, her slit wide open and displaying layer upon layer of moist, dark-pink labia, like a confectioner’s rose beaded with sticky nectar.

  “Ah, you like that,” she sighed happily, looking at his cock that seemed to have grown an extra inch. “Now let’s get that monster deep inside me where it belongs.”

  She took him carefully, gingerly, as if he were made of glass, and lowered herself onto him, gasping as his long tusk-like member slid up inside her with ease. “Now, take this very slowly, you’re very big and I’m just little. Yes, that’s right…push up gently like that…oh yes, that’s right. Now give me your hand and I’ll show you how to play with my clit. Carefully now, it’s very sensitive, that’s right, stroke it gently…”

  She was moving up and down on him like an old lover, like they’d fucked a thousand times before, each knowing the other’s rhythms, his cock and her cunt as one being, their two organs melding together with the molten solder of their mutual desire.

  “Oh, this is so good,” she moaned, riding him hard, his surprisingly skilful fingers tracing around her nut-hard clitoris and driving her wild. “This is so much better than jerking off with Rodney, isn’t it?’

  “How the fuck do you know about that?” he yelled, startled, and suddenly he felt her start to cum, her cunt convulsing around his cock as she rode him in earnest.

  “Fuck me, fuck me hard!” she yelled, her eyes yellow and her teeth barred, the dancing shadows on the wall whirling round so fast they looked like huge pouncing panthers. “Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow!”

  And, his own ejaculation imminent, he thrust savagely upwards and into her, gripping her round the waist as he thundered up inside her, feeling her pussy grasping his cock every time another orgasm washed over her, the two of them bucking like a mechanical steer in a Texas bar room as they came together again and again and again.

  ♦♦♦♦

  He must have passed out from the strength of it and he awoke to find Lorelei shaking him and slapping his face, her sparkly dress thrown carelessly to one side and her little body clad in jeans and an old combat sweater. “Come on, wake up, they’re coming, they’ve found you out. They know we’ve selected our chosen one.”

  “What? What chosen one? And who’s coming?”

  She slapped him again and threw his clothes at him. “The Guardians, you idiot, they watch over us, they’re supposed to look after us but they only want the secret of Thumbelina’s magic. That’s why they’re after you, they know that we’ve found the chosen one.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “You don’t need to understand, just do what I ask you. You will do that, won’t you? You’ll do it because you love me?”

  He nodded, slowly. “But what about…” he searched for the word, “…us?”

  She smiled sadly. “There can’t be an us, kid. But we’ll always have Morecambe, they can’t take that away from us. Now hurry, take this, carefully, and guard it with your life. Now fuck off out of here before one of them sees you. We’ll stall them for as long as we can!”

  “But…”

  “T
here isn’t time. Go!”

  He moved to the door, pulling his Parka on with one hand, holding the elaborately carved mahogany box she had entrusted to him steady with the other.

  “Lorelei…” he faltered, standing stooped in the low doorway.

  “Yes, I love you,” she replied impatiently. “Now click your heels together and get the fuck out of here. They’re coming!”

  ♦♦♦♦

  The pubs were turning their customers out into the night and the promenade was full of boisterous people with unsteady gaits as he ran home clutching his precious cargo to his chest, the foggy darkness sinister and threatening as he flew along the crowded boulevards. A man in a tall hat lunged at him and he instinctively leapt to one side, shielding the box, but the figure merely blundered past with the rest of his laughing party, all of them wearing outlandish paper millinery from the joke shop.

  Unassured, he balked from them anyway and, remembering he still had a few notes in his pocket, hailed a passing cab, letting the driver speed him home while he cradled the precious cargo to his beating heart, his mind in a whirl.

  What had Lorelei entrusted to him and just who the fuck were The Guardians, anyway? And who was Thumbelina for that matter? It sounded like something out of some cheesy Walt Disney film. Donald Duck and the Secret of Thumbelina’s Valley. Ensconced in the relative safety of the cab, he regained his composure and looked curiously at the box, at its intricate carvings and what appeared to be tiny air holes dotted at regular intervals in its encrusted edges. As he lifted the box to his ear, he fancied that he could hear breathing from within.