The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales Read online

  “When I think about the things they will do to you,” Ruth said as she dabbed the tears in her eyes with a handkerchief that had long lost its stark white color only to be replaced with a dull grey. Grey like the world. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing, knowing… well, just knowing.”

  “Ruth! Hush,” Jane scolded. “She doesn’t need to be thinking of those awful things right now. We need to help her stay strong. They’re coming, and there isn’t anything we can do about it.”

  My shoulders sagged in defeat as I watched the older lady scowl. They knew. I knew. Every single woman who wasn’t diseased or maimed—which was rare—would eventually belong to Maleficent. His appetite for sexual pleasures that crossed into a realm of dark erotic horrors were tales that kept any innocent awake with nightmares. Devious kinks, perverse taboos going beyond the most devilish of imaginations. Maleficent was a sadist, and although I really did not know what that truly meant, I did know that it was something to fear.

  “It’s time, child,” Anna said, motioning for me to come sit on the small wooden stool that rested at her feet.

  I knew what the woman wanted, and what all the women would want to do as well. It was custom. A tradition. A way to say goodbye but forever mark the person leaving. The people saying goodbye would all leave a lasting farewell. A slice of the skin—a scar forever to remind.

  Walking over to the stool, I unbuttoned the top buttons of my tunic while taking the slow but deliberate steps toward the final parting from the only women I knew and cared about. Silently sitting down, with my back facing Anna, I lowered the fabric of my shirt, exposing my shoulder blade fully. From the corner of my eye, I could see Ruth reaching for the only knife in the house. The one we used to carve the dried meat of old wild game carcasses we stumbled on while foraging, or to divide a discovered root into four equal parts for the daily meal. It wasn’t the sharpest, but it would do for what its purpose would be today.

  Anna held her hand out, and Ruth placed it on her open palm. “As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of courage.” She sliced the knife in a straight line down the flesh of my shoulder, ignoring the hiss of pain that escaped between my clenched teeth. “May you always have it.”

  Jane pushed her chair over with her feet, grunting as the extra exertion took whatever reserves of energy she had left. She reached for the blade, and sliced another line down my shoulder. “As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of endurance. May you always have it.”

  The searing sting from the cuts brought tears to my eyes, but I refused to allow them to fall. The cuts were gifts of love, and I needed to fight the superficial pain and concentrate on the deeper emotion and energy connecting me to the women as they offered the only thing they had of any worth, though not of monetary value. As tradition dictated, the loved ones would offer a trait of theirs that they valued greatly but would be willing to sacrifice to another. This farewell ceremony consisted only of three bloody slices to my flesh, a far cry from what others had endured. As a child, I could remember when villagers would say goodbye to the soldiers, both men and women, leaving for battle, and each remaining person—not able to fight—would mark the back of the departing with the same bloody knife, offering their farewell gift. The sign of a true warrior who had left behind all that they once loved would be a shoulder or back scarred with marks from people who were forced to say goodbye forever.

  In this world, everything was forever. The belief of hope had long expired, and no one believed or lived by looking toward the future for a possible good outcome. Hope dissipated right along with the sunrays—nothing but grey, dread, and despair in its place.

  Ruth helped Anna out of her seat and to another so that she could sit behind me with the blade. She placed the tip of the metal to my flesh and pressed firmly, barely breaking the skin. “As I say goodbye to you forever,” she slowly lowered the knife down the length of my shoulder, “I give you the gift of submission.” As Ruth reached the end of the cut, I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the blood from my wounds drip down the side of my back, running along the grooves of my ribcage. “May you always have it… and understand it fully.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to stare at the woman, slightly confused as to why she would alter a time honored tradition and ceremony by changing the verse. Although, when I looked into Ruth’s eyes, I could see the woman had wanted to offer something extra. It was her final farewell gift, and she simply wanted to give a little bit more.

  Raising my tunic—not caring about the bloodstains that would occur—I watched my dirty fingers fiddling with the buttons as an excuse not to look at the women. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to break down and shake with fear. It was my duty to remain strong. I was no different than all the others who had left before me. Everyone would eventually leave one way or another.

  Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the doorway and paused with my back to the women. Without turning to face them, I said, “As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of memory. May you always have it.”

  Walking out the door and down the dirt path, I knew it would only be a matter of time until I walked right up to the army to surrender. I didn’t know what that meant, or what consequences would occur from such an act, but I had no other choice. I didn’t look back once as I crested the hill that would remove any sight of my village behind me.

  Never look back. Never look back.

  Those were words I told myself time and time again when I had to leave or say goodbye to others. Those were the words I chanted when I walked away from my charred childhood home, knowing that not a single soul but myself had survived. Those were the words I recited as I tried to block out the image of my mother’s eyes, closed as if she were only asleep, but while my bloody father stared lifelessly up at me, eyes wide open. One parent looked so peaceful while the other looked so tortured, even in death.

  As I trailed up another rolling hill, I concentrated on the cadence of my heartbeat to move my hungry and tired body forward. Beat after beat, I marched, until the sound of the beats grew in intensity. Glancing up toward the horizon, I realized that the sounds were not from me but from the approaching Maleficent army. I had found them, or they had found me.

  I stood in place, hoping that zero movement on my behalf would signal to them from a distance that I meant no harm. I would not attack, nor try to run. How one sacrifices to save others, I didn’t know. But all I could do now was stand in place and wait.

  Luckily, my plan seemed to work as a large caravan of men, both marching and on horseback, approached me. A large, covered, wooden wagon with bars on the windows was being dragged by mules. It slowly made its way behind the soldiers. At a glance, I assumed it was a prison transport of some kind.

  Saving Ella

  by Tabitha Black

  A Cinderella Tale

  Trapped in a life of endless drudgery and servitude for her stepmother andsiblings, Ella has just one joy; her poster of the rock god Zainon Matthews. Every night before falling into an exhausted sleep, she gazes at his handsome face and wishes he would magically appear and whisk her away to a happily ever after. She has no idea how close she is to getting that wish... or the dark, sadistic desires Zainon will expose her to. As the saying goes: be careful what you wish for.

  Saving Ella Warning:

  Seduced by his music and drawn to his gaze, she will kneel before him; his to obey. If you tremble and wince at the thought of such blind obedience then this may not be the tale for you. But if the thought of absolute control makes your heart flutter, then turn the page!

  Love,

  Tabitha Black

  Excerpt from Saving Ella

  “Brace yourself, Ella. You know you deserve this.”

  Placing her palms flat on the polished oak desk, Ella blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face and bit her lower lip. She knew what would happen next. It was always the same.

  “Are you ready?” Nathan continued.

  “For Go
d’s sake, just get on with it. As much as I know you enjoy dragging this out, I do have work to do,” she said—rather snippishly, considering she was bent over a desk with her bared and vulnerable backside pointed forlornly at the ceiling.

  “I’m well aware of your chores.” Her stepbrother’s tone was just as dismissive. “Your failure to complete them all on time is why you’re here.”

  “It’s absolutely impossible to complete all those chores on time, and you know that as well as I do,” she snapped. “The only reason why I’m given such a ridiculous list every damn day is because your mother,” she put extra emphasis on the word, “knows you get some kind of perverse kick out of punishing me this way. And how she loves to indulge her beloved son.”

  “That’s a lie!” Nathan yelled, bringing the wooden paddle down with a resounding crack.

  A blaze of pain seared across both Ella’s buttocks and she gasped, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the desk harder in order to hold her position. Taking a deep breath, she debated briefly whether or not to keep taunting him. Fuck it.

  “Most of those stupid tasks are pointless anyway,” she went on. “Ever since we moved into this smaller house, the housework would be easily managed if we split it evenly between everyone. But oh, no… you and your darling sister get to lounge around all day while I have to do everything.”

  She bit her lip as Nathan brought the paddle down again, the thick wood landing in precisely the same spot, reigniting the burn. Once she’d absorbed the initial sting, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Tell me, darling brother,” she said mockingly, “are you hard now?”

  “Shut up!” The third and fourth swats landed in quick succession.

  Ella closed her eyes, trying hard to keep her temper in check. It was so unfair. Ever since her father had died, she had become like the household slave, having to do everything for her stepmother, not to mention her step-siblings, Nathan and Anastasia. Every weekend, she watched enviously from her bedroom window as they left the house to go and party, all dressed up in the latest fashions, piling into cars filled with laughing, jubilant friends, while she herself still had endless and mundane housework to do.

  I have no life. It’s so unfair. Why did Father have to die? Theoretically, now that Ella was over eighteen, she should be able to leave home… but her stepmother, unwilling to lose free slave labor, had made it impossible. The evil woman had confiscated Ella’s birth certificate and all other important paperwork, and Ella had never been permitted to learn how to drive—although, of course, her siblings had. With no friends and no social network outside the house, it was quite simple: she had nowhere else to go.

  “Then why do you do this?” she panted, once Nathan had planted the fifth paddle swat lower, catching the tops of her thighs. “You could always just tell Mother that you carried out the punishment without actually having done it.”

  Nathan remained silent.

  “You’re just too much of a coward to lie,” she went on taunting him. “And even though you won’t admit it, you’re some kind of sick sadist who enjoys paddling his stepsister.”

  “I swear to fucking God, Ella,” Nathan snarled, “if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll… I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” She gave a hollow laugh. “Punish me? Send me to bed without any supper?” A great wave of fury consumed her and she used that surge of energy to push herself up off the desk and spin around to face him. “You don’t seem to understand,” she said, grimly. “There is absolutely nothing you could do to me to make my life worse. I have nothing. I am treated as though I were nothing. I am at your beck and call every hour of the day, and often during the night as well. I’m given impossible tasks purely so you and your evil witch of a mother can exercise your sadistic urges and find ‘excuses’ to punish me. I have no life!” Her heart pounding, she stared him down, trying to find some trace of humanity or humility in Nathan’s eyes, but they were cold. Blank. Uncaring.

  “Get back over the table,” he said.

  “No.” She folded her arms over her chest, marveling at her own audacity but realizing at the same time that she had been speaking the truth—she really did have nothing to lose.

  “I’ll tell Mother.”

  “Tell her.” Ella’s backside throbbed and she was aware that she must look ridiculous with her pants and panties around her knees, standing up to a man who was only a year her senior, but at that moment, she didn’t care. I’ve snapped, she thought suddenly. I’ve finally reached the end of my rope. It was curiously liberating.

  “I’ll ask you one more time. Get back down, take the remaining swats, and we’ll pretend you never had that little outburst.”

  She had to hand it to him, he was still trying to maintain the façade of having the upper hand, even if he had lost. And, judging by the look in his eyes, he knew it.

  “How many more?” she asked, lifting her chin. For some reason, the realization that she had won this little argument was enough for her to back off. For now. Truth be told, Ella was exhausted, and the sooner they got this little scenario over with, the sooner she could finish the remainder of her daily tasks and escape to bed. She had some serious thinking to do.

  Nathan hesitated. “Seven.”

  “Three,” she countered.

  “Five. Final offer.”

  She almost smiled. “Fine. Five more.” Feigning indifference, she turned once more, bending over the desk. “And hurry up.”

  The renewed burning, searing pain was an indication that Nathan was trying to make the most of his remaining swats, trying to punish her further for her outburst, but Ella’s mind was on other things and she took each and every one without making a sound.

  She wasn’t sure why it had taken her so long to reach this point, but now she had. And she was going to make some changes in her life.

  Nathan tossed the paddle aside without another word, and Ella was equally silent as she pulled up her panties and pants and left the study. Anastasia was hovering near the door, eavesdropping as usual, Ella thought bitterly, but she resolutely ignored her stepsister and marched purposefully up to her little attic bedroom. Once there, she flopped down on the bed, ignoring the dull ache in her buttocks, and looked up at the one thing that gave her life meaning.

  Oh, Zainon, why can’t you come in on a white charger and rescue me from all this? she thought ruefully, gazing up at the handsome, square jaw, the deep, intense eyes and the shaggy black hair of the man on the poster. Ella had tacked it to the sloping wall in such a way that she was able to see it comfortably when she was lying down.

  Zainon Matthews was a musician—no, a rock god. His singles consistently hit the top of the indie charts and he regularly performed to sold out stadiums, with legions of screaming fans all scrambling to get a better look at their idol. He enjoyed the sort of adulation normally reserved for teen popstars; but this was no baby-faced industry puppet. He had real talent, could play several instruments (although no-one could beat him on the guitar) and had a raw, smoky voice which sent shivers down Ella’s spine whenever she heard him sing.

  In her view, his God-given good looks were just the icing on the cake.

  Anastasia and Nathan, both also big fans, had every album he’d ever recorded, and Anastasia had so many posters of him that she’d once, in a rare moment of sisterly sympathy, given one to Ella. Of her two step-siblings, Anastasia was by far the kinder. Unfortunately, she was also timid, and rarely dared to speak out against Nathan or their mother’s harsh treatment of Ella.

  With a deep sigh, Ella closed her eyes, feeling the familiar ache in her chest at the thought that Zainon Matthews was scheduled to give a concert a mere hour’s drive away in just a few days’ time. Nathan and Anastasia both had tickets, of course. Ella had tried everything, she had even fallen to her knees and begged her stepmother to be allowed to go, but the bitch had simply given that infuriating smirk of hers.

  “If you finish your chores on time,” she’d said, looking down her nose at E
lla.

  “Then I can go?” Ella had been so full of hope she’d been unable to breathe.

  “That’s what I said.”

  What she hadn’t said was that she would hand Ella a list of tasks so ridiculously long that there was no way she would ever be able to get them done in a month, let alone three days. But Ella was no fool, she’d had a feeling there would be some kind of catch. If not an unmanageable list of things to do, then it would have been something else impossible. There was no way she would ever be allowed to do something as wonderful as attend a concert. She never had before, why should things change?

  You could go anyway, a small voice in the back of her head told her. After all, what have you got to lose? What would they do to you afterwards? Beat you? Keep you in the house and force you to work your fingers to the bone from morning till night, seven days a week?

  Ella allowed herself a small smile at the irony of it all. But she didn’t have any money, no means of transport, nothing to wear and, most important of all, no ticket.

  It was all so unfair. Ignoring the dull ache in her bottom, she crossed one long leg over the other, folded her arms behind her head, and stared deeply into Zainon’s light gray eyes, willing him to show her a way. One night. One night was all she was asking for. A few measly hours in exchange for a lifetime of servitude and drudgery, one magical experience about which she could dream and fantasize for the rest of her life. Something amazing to cling to while she scrubbed floors, polished windows, pruned plants, washed dishes, mended clothing, and did the thousand and one other things that toiling in her stepmother’s house involved.

  “Please, Zee,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke his chiseled cheek. “Show me a way.”

  Unfortunately, the day before the concert, Ella still hadn’t come any closer to finding a way to get there. Nor had she been able to make any significant progress on that ridiculous, mile-long list she’d been given.