In the Forests of the Night Read online

  “Now,” she moaned softly, “why don’t you put those fingers that are exploring my bush to better use on my clit…”

  Chapter Two

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  Their secret affair continued as the fecund summer faded into a golden autumn and the allotment plots became redolent with the scents of composting and burning leaves. By the end of September some of the gardeners had already boarded up their sheds and turned their plots over to lie fallow for the winter, but Edward and the girl soldiered on into the early dusks and pink and purple Halloween skies of October, working all day and then fucking in the shed in the early evening.

  They would both strip naked to make love now, and Edward had exchanged his deckchair for a folding sun-lounger that just fitted the length of the shed and let them fuck in comfort and lie together in the afterglow, tracing the patterns of each other’s body hair like the contours of a map.

  “Your hair forms beautiful swirls,” she said to him one day as they lay together, his cock still half erect and sticky with drying cum, a wet condom lying on the shed floor where she had dropped it after peeling it from his still hard dick and rubbed the viscous liquid between her fingers.

  He made a sleepy noise, delighting in her touch. “I love the way it curls and swirls,” she went on, running her fingers through his bush and up the thick mat that covered his stomach, working her way up to his chest where she gently pinched his nipples to make them stand up.

  Edward smiled, luxuriating in her attentions. He loved it when she played with him like this, explored his body, and he could feel his just-cum cock start to stiffen up again. And to think he didn’t even know her name, this wonderful, beautiful girl who knew his most intimate places like the intricate folds of her delicious pink quim. Secretly he called her Rapunzel, since she still wouldn’t acknowledge him in public, but would answer his soft twilight call when the other allotmenteers cleaned down their spades and headed home, slipping silently into the warmth of the gas stove and the intimacy of their secret shed with him, and peeling his clothes from his hard body like fibrous green leaves from golden maize. He had thought of calling her the name openly once, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your chestnut hair, but he feared losing her above all else, and held his peace, content to simply love her quietly and enjoy whatever fleeting time she would permit them to share together.

  She was tracing the contours of his chest hair now, thick and wiry but not coarse, like couch grass at the seaside links. “I think I’ll make a map of you,” she said, luxuriating in the animal feel of him, her fingers caressing his fur.

  “So, where are we now?”

  She laughed, not something she often did, and he wanted to kiss all the old hurts from her eyes. “Well,” she began, circling his chest again, “I think I’ll call this the Painted Desert, and then, down here to your belly, Death Valley, and, here, and now this is getting interesting, Dead Man’s Gulch leading to the Black Forest and...mmmm...the Tower of Flints….”

  His cock had been lying warmly against his body, almost completely erect, but now it stiffened fully with her touch and stood up in front of him and, not for the first time, he marvelled at her magic. He was fifty-one years old and had just fucked this girl and yet here he was, up again and ready for more.

  “The trouble with this big delicious cock of yours,” she was saying, “is that I’m spoilt for choice with what I want to do with it. I could suck it, or masturbate it, or take it up inside my pussy and fuck the hell out of you, but I think I’m just going to play with it until something more original comes to me…”

  “OK,” he whispered, content to let her have her way with him. “Do with me what you will.” Adding, ‘Rapunzel,’ in his head.

  She smiled. “Oh, I intend to, Prince Charming, I intend to. Now, let’s follow this hair trail and see where it leads after I cup these two very heavy balls that are working overtime to produce all that spunk that you ejaculate all over me. Fuck, you are deliciously hairy, aren’t you.”

  “Like you, Fairy Queen,” he replied in a low voice. “Later I’m going to map out all your secret forests and give them names when you’re done mapping mine.”

  She gave a little shudder of pleasure. “That I’ll love,” she whispered, and he could smell her arousal at the prospect. “But for now there’s more of your hair I want to explore. Turn over for me.”

  He did as she asked and felt her fingers trace all around the hair of his buttocks and then bury themselves in the crack of his ass. “What’s this called?” he asked, disproportionately excited.

  “Fingel’s Cave,” she replied without hesitation. “Can I enter?”

  He nodded consent, knowing what she was about to do.

  He heard her rummage in the bag that was lying on the floor and knew she was searching for the lubricant he had used on her when he had fucked her in this very same way, and he shuddered with excitement at the thought of what was about to take place.

  “Get up on your knees for me and spread your legs,” she whispered. “That’s perfect…fuck, what a hot tight little asshole you have.”

  “Put two fingers up…stretch it,” he gasped, amazed at the feel of her so deep inside him.

  “All in good time,” she teased. “Don’t be so greedy.”

  “Like you were when I had my cock up your own tight little hole?”

  “Dirty boy,” she chided. “You need to be punished.”

  “So, punish me.”

  She pushed another finger into him, her combined digits like a short stubby cock, and began to ass-fuck him in earnest.

  “You like?”

  “Feel and see.”

  She wrapped the fingers of her other hand around his shaft, marvelling at how thick and hard it was. “Oh, you do like, don’t you,” she whispered. “Is this better than when you did this to me?”

  He remembered parting her ass cheeks and feeling all the secret hair, then finding her tight pink asshole and being amazed by it, exploring it with his fingers for ages before he finally lubed his cock up and entered her. “It was sensational,” he gasped. “Like this. One’s not better than the other.”

  “I wish I had a cock,” she panted, frigging him hard, “I wish I had a great big fat cock to go right up your tight little chute and make you squeal.”

  “Your fingers are doing well enough,” he managed to gasp as she pushed deep inside him and yanked his cock up and down.

  “You’re not squealing yet,” she grunted, masturbating him hard as she pushed the fingers of her other hand right up him, reaming him mercilessly, “I need to hear you squeal!”

  She was up tight behind him, and he could feel her big breasts squashed against his back, and he remembered taking her old white bra off that first night and seeing them, the rubbery pink nipples that stiffened at his touch, the imperceptible fairy ring of soft brown hairs that circled the aureoles. “Oh my God,” he groaned, “I think I’m going to cum…”

  “Yes,” she whispered, pushing deep into him with one hand, squeezing his cock oh so hard with the other. “Yes, please, cum for me, cum for me beautifully, soak the whole bed with your salty juice.”

  And he felt it, deep inside him, like a cartoon hosepipe inflating and inflating until it had no choice but to burst, and with a roar his orgasm shot out of him like a torrent, like drinking pints and pints of liquid and holding in your pee until it literally burst out of you, and he yelled out “I love you” as he came, all self control gone, his mind realising too late the words that he had just said.

  And he felt her heat evaporate like a cold wind blowing dead leaves through a midnight graveyard, felt her detaching herself from him like two cells separating in the womb, and he knew immediately that he had lost her.

  She dressed, quickly and soundlessly and kissed him on the cheek, a sad smile on her face, and turned to survey him on the bed, still naked and erect, as she stood by the
open door. “Goodbye, Edward Edwards,” she whispered. “You are the love of my life…”

  “Then stay,” he beseeched, but she shook her head ruefully and was gone.

  An early frost descended the next day, and by November heavy snow was covering all the allotments in a muffed white blanket, and the none but Edward ventured there, sitting patiently each day by the meagre heat of his gas ring until the first chill of spring and the pioneer snowdrops showed their shy heads, calling him to turn over his fallow soil and begin the process of fecundity all over again.

  Gradually, the other gardeners began to appear with their spades and hoes, but the girl’s plot lay barren, tuberous weeds strangling what was left of her crop, and Edward Edwards knew then that he would never see her again.

  Though he never stopped looking.

  Cinderella Story

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  Story Two

  Chapter One

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  I find myself standing in just my bra and knickers in a line of similarly clad girls, all impatient to strip down to the buff in front of a panel of total strangers in the hope of getting a place on a new reality TV show. Face Yourself Naked, it’s going to be called, an after-watershed piece of sleaze where wannabes strip off in front of a panel of designers who then take them out shopping — hopefully dressed — and make swans out of their ugly ducklings for the viewers’ delight.

  It is, of course, a completely contemptible form of entertainment, and yet here too am I, baring my sizable ass along with all the other hopefuls for the chance of a bit of fame and some well-needed cash. “It’s a bad idea,” Solly, my agent, says to me, shaking his head in that fatalistic way he does when I suggest something that he doesn’t approve of. “No-one ever achieves lasting fame from TV talent shows.”

  “Ah, but it’s hardly a talent show, now is it, so who knows?” I say, posing a rhetorical question that I don’t expect him to answer, though he shakes his head anyway. “And, let’s face it, Solly, you’re the thirty-third best agent in London and even you can’t get the RSC to pick up the phone. So I need to do something.”

  “I can get you Minnie Mouse at Eurodisney…” he says with faint hope in his voice, but I am already out of the door. And so here I stand, practically nude, shivering in the wings of the huge stage at Studio One, watching the minuscule girl ahead of me walk out into the single spot and face the panel.

  “Alright, love, lose the bra,” I hear a bored voice from the auditorium shout, and pausing only momentarily to smirk sideways at me, the smug bitch confidently shucks her top and places her hands boldly on her hips, smiling like she’s actually shown them something.

  “Very nice, now the rest, please,” the voice calls, though I don’t know what she’s looking so chuffed about, I’ve seen more breast on a frozen chicken portion. But, despite my lack of enthusiasm, she proceeds to lose her knickers anyway, and pulls her child-size cute-kitty panties down to the floor.

  “Oh nice, very nice,” the voice from the pit says again, betraying his stunning vocabulary. “Now give us a twirl.”

  Miss Perfect Pants, who’s Japanese or Korean or something else annoyingly petite, momentarily takes her index finger out of her mouth and turns to show them her puny jail bait ass. Then, with a totally sickening giggle, gathers up her undies and bounces off the stage, shooting me another one of her smug little grins as she goes.

  “Next,” the voice calls, but I’m too busy wishing her an attack of embarrassingly positioned genital warts to hear, until I suddenly become aware of someone shouting, “Number three hundred and seventy eight, please,” and I realise with a horrible sinking feeling that it’s my turn to mount the scaffold and throw my last remaining scraps of dignity to the winds.

  ♦♦♦♦

  There are three of them huddled around the table in the dark auditorium, two wet-looking blokes with immaculately barbered Tintin quiffs and matching Dolce and Gabbana sweaters, and a tall thin girl with a razor-sharp fringe and big glasses worn low on the edge of her delightfully turned up nose.

  “OK, love,” the first boy-detective says disinterestedly, punching a text into his hyper-expensive mobile computer-pad thingy as he talks. “Show us the goods.”

  At this point I’m still not sure whether I should strip off or not but, figuring that I’ve come this far anyway so what the hell, I pull my Marks and Sparks knickers down and then quickly unfasten my double-D bra, also from the same popular high street emporium, and stand before them completely starkers, my face wearing my famous want-a-piece-of-me scowl.

  “Uggh, bush,” Tintin Number One says in disgust, writing something in real ink on the sheet before him. “OK, thanks for coming in, love, that’s all. Next please!”

  I’m about to say, ‘What she gets to show you her bum and I don’t?’ Because I really really want to stick my sizable ass out at these three, big time, when the girl speaks. “That was very good, Amanda, thank you. Leave your card at the stage door, please, and tell them to mark it for Georgie, OK?”

  I nod, completely nonplussed by the first bit of civility I’ve been shown all day, and then she goes and tops it all by smiling at me. And I’m standing there as naked as the day I was born, rooted to the spot and staring at her like a goon, this big goofy grin on my face, until I suddenly become aware of the next hopeful behind me boring holes into my back with her eyes and I quickly get the hell off that stage.

  Chapter Two

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  When I get home Lucas, my future ex-boyfriend, is sitting on the bed composing a symphony into his computer. Lucas has been my future ex for about two years now, I just haven’t got round to telling him that it’s all over between us.

  I first met him in my final year at drama school where he was the orchestra leader for our degree show production, and he sort of drifted into my bed sometime around then and has been living off my protesting credit card balance ever since. Not that he’s much trouble, of course. He eats practically nothing, doesn’t have any possessions as such and his sole occupation in life is the composition of unsalable symphonic music on his computer, so most of the time I forget that he’s even there. Oh, and did I mention he has the most fantastic cock ever? That’s also why I never get round to breaking it off with him, I just get one look at Captain Cocky and I think, oh hell, just one last blow job and then I’ll tell him, but then, of course, I never do.

  And that’s just what happens today, because, basically, I’m on the verge of bankruptcy and can’t afford to carry him any longer, and I’d resolved to break things off with him tonight right after the audition, but I’m so goddamned horny when I get in I just flop down on the bed and unzip him, pushing his laptop roughly to one side, and, darling boy that he is, it only takes him a matter of seconds to stiffen up, and by the time I’ve got his zip down and his underpants pulled to one side he’s as hard as mahogany carving and raring to go.

  “That’s nice,” he whispers, “and hello, Amanda. I take it you got the part then.”

  Little beads of crystal clear pre-cum are already forming round the sticky little slit at the top of his cock and I can feel my cunt juicing up as I lick up all his salty goodness and he leans back to enjoy the delights to come.

  “No,” I say quickly before I start, since I’m an old fashioned girl and know that it’s rude to speak with your mouth full. “I won’t know until next week.”

  He laughs softly as I take the hot head of his very stiff and naked cock into my mouth and tease him with my lips. “So, what’s all this in aid of then?” he asks, closing his eyes and trying to keep his voice level, which, I can tell you he’s failing miserably at as I take him deeper and deeper into my mouth, my tongue frenching the tip of his prick and driving him wild.

  And what is it all in aid of, I ask myself as my eager mouth goes up and down on him and my wet pussy demands to be stripped naked and fucked, yes, fucked, not gently stro
ked or licked but the full Monty fuckaroo extravaganza. Is it because it’s finally over with him and I want to go out with a bang or is it really because I’ve just shown my bare fanny to a cute girl with glasses and she’s got me incredibly hot?

  Neither option, of course, is something that I want to explore particularly right now, and as Lucas’ body goes rigid and he starts to thrust violently into my mouth, I quickly bring him off, swallowing down all his hot semen as he pumps his desire into me, coming off him while his orgasm is still spurting out of his huge swollen dick and, ripping my jeans and panties off in one, I sit on him, cowgirl style, and proceed to fuck his brains out.

  Chapter Three

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  There are two messages on my machine when I get in on Monday. One rather cryptic one from Georgie asking me to call by her office tomorrow night; and a second from Lucas to tell me that he’s moved out and could I forward his mail. Seems he’s met a tuba player from Huddersfield and they want to make beautiful music together. So much for my indefinable feminine intuition.

  Anyway, though I’ll certainly miss his very obliging cock, I’m not exactly broken up by my now current ex’s sudden departure, though I wonder if the tuba player knows what she’s in for way up there in the grim North; but, frankly, I’m more concerned by Georgie’s monosyllabic memorandum to care, and I play it back again but to no avail. I’m still mystified.

  Have I got the effin’ part or haven’t I, I grumble to myself, playing the message repeatedly and putting my full actress training to use. But, though I ponder over it till well after midnight, I’m still completely in the dark over Georgie’s motivation, and so I decide to just show up at her office and find out.

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