The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales

by Zoe Blake

  “Come,” he said softly, grabbing me beneath my arms and picking me off the ground.

  My legs were weak and I could barely bear any weight. If it were not for him holding me up, I would have surely crumpled to the ground. Other trainers around me were hitting, kicking, shouting at the women, but my trainer did not. That did not mean he did not exude strength, and in fact, I felt he was the most powerful man in the room. Yet he did not abuse me as others did their assigned beauties.

  “Sleep tight, my beauties. I shall see you all again soon,” I heard Maleficent call out from behind as my trainer led my exhausted body out of the auditorium.

  Chapter Three

  Prince

  Why was she not scared? Why did she not sob like the others? Plead? Resist in any way? She had simply stared at me, her blue eyes burrowing into my soul. I was no better than the devil whom I worked for, yet she showed no fear of me. And when I approached her and pulled out my cock, I didn’t have to force her… not really.

  It was easy to tell she had no experience and didn’t know how to please, yet she had. She didn’t seem disgusted like the other women, who gagged and drooled all around being forced to suck their trainers off. She tried her best, it appeared. Why? The other trainers had to slap the faces of their women, pull their hair, and jam their cocks deep in their mouths to establish their dominance. But not me. My hands rested gently on each side of her face and nothing more. She required none of my force. I had no lesson to teach. And when she swallowed my cum, a look of satisfaction and pride seemed to wash over her face. Who was this woman?

  She had to be a fool. Anyone with one look at me should see the evil inside. She should hate me, despise me, in fact. I was not sick in the head, but my soul was terminal. My death sentence had been set years ago. The day I decided to enter Maleficent’s realm of terror, I had allowed the cancer of evil to slowly eat away at the man I once was.

  A naïve young man who thought he could change the destroyed world. An upcoming leader in the resistance, determined to take down the Maleficent reign at whatever cost. I was a man with a dream for the better. I thought I could win. I could master the king of darkness himself. All I had to do was infiltrate his world, study him, learn his weaknesses. That was all I had to do. Yet I failed. The only thing I learned was how powerful the man and his hold on the world was. It was so toxic that it poisoned me. It stole all the hope I had left. He mastered me. He won.

  Day by day, as the darkness seeped into me, I realized one thing. This was the world we lived in. There was no point. No point to do anything more than survive.

  I beat women. I raped women. I killed women.

  I was a monster.

  At first, I thought I had no choice. It was needed for me to earn Maleficent’s trust. It was an awful necessity to ultimately save thousands, if not millions of lives later. If I could just see my actions as collateral damage…

  Members of the resistance had warned me. They told me that a man can not be asked to do the things Maleficent’s trainers were rumored to do and return to being the man he once was. But I felt I could. I thought it was a risk worth taking. Something had to be done. Maleficent had to be stopped. I would go in, and I would bring the man down. That was my goal.

  Until the day of death. I can still hear the cries when I close my eyes at night. The resistance grew impatient. They moved in and attacked. They had no idea what they were up against, and as each brave warrior lost their life that day, I stood back and helplessly watched. Everything I once fought for, everyone I had stood beside in camaraderie, was dead. I was told that even my own father had perished on that battlefield. The only thing that remained was Maleficent, his bloody and ruthless army, and the corpses of hope being hung up along the walls of the compound to warn all who wanted to attempt such an insane mission again. Should they have waited for me? Should my father have waited to lead the attack until I returned? Waited for crucial intel that could have helped them win the battle?

  No.

  They wouldn’t have liked what I had to say.

  You cannot beat Maleficent. He is unstoppable.

  I thought I could. I thought I would be victorious.

  But the damage to my heart and the core of who I was became destroyed. The only hope for me now was a deep grave that would swallow the filth that I had become.

  So yes, that woman should have feared me. She should have taken one look at me and trembled, even pissed herself at what would become the horror of her new imprisoned life. She should have screamed, cried, all for the upcoming agony she was about to endure from my hand.

  Briar

  We entered a large housing structure, neither of us saying a single word. He maintained a strong hold on my arm, which I appreciated rather than feared. I could hear screams, pleas, cries of other women as we walked down the hallway. Some women were being dragged by their hair. Others were sobbing as they obediently followed their new master. I, however, did not shed a single tear. I had no reason to at this time. Was I scared?

  Yes.

  Was I positive I would hate what was in store?

  Absolutely.

  But I had learned something a long time ago—focus on the moment, rather than the future. To worry about the what ifs would only destroy what could be a moment that was not full of misery at the time. Misery would come. Hunger would come. Death would follow. But if for that one moment, you weren’t miserable, weren’t hungry, and were not dead—then focus on that positive. It was the only way to survive. It was the only way not to go completely mad.

  Stopping us before a door—one of many down the long hallway—my trainer entered a code into a keypad, and the door clicked open. He guided me into the room and flipped a switch that turned on the lights. It was one large room with a window at the far end. The curtains were closed so I was unable to see what it looked out upon. There was a large bed, an armchair, a plain wood table with two wooden chairs on each end, and a cot pushed up against the far wall. Another door was slightly ajar, and I could see it led to the bathroom. The floor was bare concrete with no rugs, and nothing hanging on the walls. Gray floors, white walls, yet very pristine. The falling ash from the sky had not made its way into this room, and for that, I was grateful.

  “I’m assuming you are hungry,” my trainer said as he shut the door behind us.

  I looked at him and nodded. “Very.”

  “Go on into the bathroom and clean up your knees.” I looked down and saw that blood was trickling down my leg. “There are bandages and antiseptic in the top drawer.” He let go of my arm, walked over to a small computer mounted on the wall, and began typing with his back to me. “I’ll order some food to be brought to us.” He looked over his shoulder at me and an eyebrow rose. “Well, go on now. Get cleaned up.”

  My heart skipped a beat at how firm his voice was. He wasn’t exactly terrifying like Maleficent was, but he was a man who exuded no nonsense. I had no intention of upsetting him or defying him in any way. I rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind me, releasing the breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding.

  Much like the apartment, the bathroom was bare, sterile, simple. But it was a bathroom with running water and a flushing toilet. Both were luxuries where I came from, and the shower and tub meant I would remain clean while I was here, which was a simple pleasure in life. And the fact that my trainer was ordering food meant I would also get to eat, which, too, was something I could not usually guarantee on a daily basis. Running the cool water on a neatly folded cloth I took from a shelf over the toilet, I quickly cleaned all my scrapes and puncture wounds. Not wanting to keep my trainer waiting for long, I opened the drawer, applied the antiseptic and bandages, and washed my face. Noticing that there was a comb in the drawer, I ran it down my golden locks as I tried to make myself as presentable as possible. I didn’t want to repulse the man, and it felt good to be clean and orderly in appearance.

  As I entered the living area again, I could feel my cheeks warm when the knowledge that
I still stood naked set in. I wondered if I would ever be allowed to dress again, but I also wasn’t about to verbally complain or ask. The words of the woman in the carriage still rang in the back of my mind. I had no intention of being punished or even worse. I would do exactly as my trainer said. It would be far easier that way. And then maybe, once he knew he had no reason to punish me for anything, I could take that opportunity to see if there was a way out or any chance of escape.

  There was a buzz at the door and my trainer pointed to the table and chairs. “Go sit.”

  I did as he asked, my mouth watering with the idea that I would get to eat. It had been so long. As I sat down on the cold wood, I flinched slightly when the temperature made contact with my bare behind. I crossed my legs, grateful that I could somewhat conceal my privates, even though my breasts were on full display over the edge of the table.

  The trainer walked over with a tray in each of his hands. He set one in front of me and then sat across from me with his own. He looked at me when I didn’t immediately start eating, even though I desperately wanted to. “Go ahead and eat. I know you must be starving.”

  I was. Starving wasn’t even a strong enough word to describe how I felt. I reached for the piece of bread and took as large a bite as I could, cutting my meat as I chewed.

  “My name is Prince,” the trainer said. “But you will call me Sir or Master.”

  I looked up and swallowed the bread before saying, “My name is Briar Rose.”

  He nodded at my food, silently ordering me to continue eating. “I’m sure you have no idea what is going to happen or what to expect.”

  I stabbed at my meat and brought it to my mouth before I said, “No, Sir. I do not.”

  “You are to be trained to be obedient. Maleficent wants his beauties to be docile, biddable.” He took a large bite and said as he chewed, “Call it whatever you want. My job is to make sure that you will always be submissive to Maleficent. I will do to you whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  “What if I am willing to be all of that right now?”

  He looked at me and studied me with skepticism in his eyes. “You have no desire to flee?”

  “And go where?”

  “You don’t want to scream?”

  “Who would hear me and care?”

  “Why are you not crying?”

  I swallowed the large piece of meat and softly answered, “I cried all my tears years ago. There is nothing left.”

  He nodded and looked down at his food and didn’t say another word. We both ate in complete silence, as if all was ordinary in the world.

  Prince

  I knew what I was supposed to do now. Feeding her wasn’t part of the plan—at least not on the first night. But she was so skinny. Too skinny. She wouldn’t survive the week if she didn’t have some calories in her. I needed her body to be strong, even as I worked to make her mind weak. I was to beat her. Torture her. Make her scream for mercy. It wasn’t like we had a manual as trainers, but there were acts that were supposed to happen on the first night to help in the process of crushing the woman’s spirit. A broken woman was what Maleficent wanted, and I had become the master of making that happen. It was easy. So very easy to crush the inner spirit.

  Yet…

  This woman was already broken.

  It was clear to me. She was an empty shell. Just as I was.

  “Have you ever been beaten?” I asked as I finished my last bite.

  “No.” She looked up at me as she answered, but I saw no fear in her eyes. Damnit, why?

  “Have you even been spanked? Choked? Flogged?”

  “No.”

  “Fucked?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  I stood up and gathered the dishes, expecting to hear the answers she gave. Each beauty usually had the same answer. Some hadn’t been virgins, but in this fucked up world, most had not willingly given it up.

  “Is that what you plan to do to me tonight?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Yes,” I answered simply. “Though I may not beat you if you do everything I ask, when I ask it, and exactly how I ask you to do it.” I turned to look at her and noticed how she fiddled with her hands in her lap, but she did not cry. She did not plead. She wasn’t scanning the room for something she could use to try to kill me with, like all the others had done in the past.

  Her lack of emotion unnerved me. It made me angry. She should be fighting for her life now. She should be! What the fuck was wrong with her?

  I stormed over to where she sat and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her out of her seat and throwing her against the wall.

  She gasped, but did not scream.

  I pressed my mouth to hers, thrusting my tongue past her lips, waiting for her to bite, to shove, to struggle against such an intimate touch.

  She only returned the kiss, cautious at first, but did not resist at all.

  I grabbed her breast and broke away from the kiss so I could watch her expression. Pinching her nipple hard, I waited for a cry, a scream, something. All I saw was her pupils dilate and her mouth open slightly.

  Feeling as if I were losing this battle, I lowered my hand and pressed my finger into her pussy without any warning at all. Her wetness made the invasion simple, and when she spread her legs wider and moaned in response, I lost my fucking mind.

  Thrusting my finger up inside her as deeply as I could, I growled, “You should be fucking terrified!” I thrust again, and then again. Each thrust harder than the last. Her juices seeped around my finger, coating my palm.

  She moaned loudly with each aggressive movement of my hand, clinging to my back as if holding onto life.

  With my other hand, I grabbed her throat and began to squeeze. “I could kill you right now.”

  Her eyes widened, but I still saw no fear.

  Her pussy tightened around my finger, and I knew that if I continued, she would come. She was going to fucking come instead of cry!

  In a moment of rage, I flipped her around to face the wall.

  Still no cry. Not even a whimper.

  I slapped her ass hard, waiting for a squeal of pain.

  Nothing.

  Taking a hold of her hair, yanking hard at the scalp, I swatted her ass fiercely again, and then again.

  Breaths of air released from her open mouth, but still no cries for mercy. No shouts. No begging to God.

  I continued to spank her ass, watching it pinken beneath my touch. I would win this battle. She would reveal her fear to me by the time this night was over. This beauty would confirm to me that she was not more fucked up than I. She and I did not share the same blackness. Yes, she may be broken, but I was worse. I was nothing more than a million shattered obscure pieces, and I would prove to her that she was still whole enough to crack.

  I would crack her. I would fucking crack her.

  Hating myself with each spank of her ass, I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved her down to the ground, towering over her. “Look at me,” I shouted. “Why do you not cry? Do you want to die?”

  Her big eyes stared up at me. I saw pain in them, a deep despair. But I did not see fear.

  “Answer me,” I demanded. “Do you wish to die?”

  In the most tender of voices, she answered, “I learned a long time ago that I don’t get to make that decision. I have no control over when I die.”

  “But do you want me to kill you tonight? If you show no fear, if you don’t cry, if you don’t plead, how do you know I will stop?”

  “Am I in control of when you stop?” she asked in the same tender voice, her eyes never leaving mine.

  “No, you have no fucking say in what I do to you,” I said between clenched teeth, hating that she was in far more control than I was. She had the strength to fight the urge to scream. She had the dominance over her own body and suppressed the trembles. Briar Rose had full command of her emotions and I hated her for it.

  Her tiny naked frame lay crumpled on the floor, still pressed up against the w
all, yet she didn’t shake. I wanted her to fucking shake. I wanted to see that she felt something. I wanted to see that her soul wasn’t fucking dead. Where was her goddamn fear? I would kill her just to hear her cry. If I didn’t do something, I would break her neck just so I could see a small glimpse of fear.

  With the overpowering need to regain some semblance of power, I unzipped my pants. She broke her stare to look at my cock, with the first real signs of fear present as I pulled it out. I liked it. I liked seeing the terror surface in the depths of the dark blue eyes that stared helplessly up at me. I was a sick bastard. I knew this.

  Feeling all the fury of my life bubble inside. Feeling all my hate. Feeling all the dark fucking evil that consumed all of who I was, I allowed the piss to leave my body in a rush as I growled. The liquid splashed down on her exposed body, covering her in my waste. The golden stream flowed out as I felt all my built up angst flow out with it. Hate exited me and rained down upon her. Hurt exploded from deep inside of my gut and showered against her creamy-white flesh, tainting her purity with my pollution.

  Yet, she was beautiful. So insanely beautiful. The wetness coated her flesh, dripped from her hard nipples, and dampened the tiny little curls on her pubis. My cock hardened, but I maintained my control. And as I continued to pee on her, humiliate her, shame her, splashing the reality onto her soul, shocking her with the darkness of her situation, I watched as her eyes overflowed with tears, and she finally cried. My beauty finally gave me what I needed. She showed me that she was indeed vulnerable. She was indeed alive.