In the dark part of the forest

There was decidedly something about wolves. Something beyond their reputation and the stories of half-eaten bodies of little children with which their nurses regularly scared their charges. Something to do with actual appearance, movement: the lean shadow manifesting from between the trunks of trees – the stuff of nightmare.
- Tanith Lee, “Wolfland”


The sound of the soles of her shoes striking the pavement was a lonely sound, Jess thought. Though there was plenty of noise on the street, it seemed to fade away to a dull hiss compared to the sound of her walking. She knew she shouldn’t have attempted to walk down to her cousin’s, but with her car in the shop and her cousin too sick to really care for herself, she didn’t have much choice. The buses did not run at night, and it took her longer to get home from work when she had to rely on public transit.

Her cousin Marta lived only six blocks from where she did, in an equally antiquated apartment building in the heart of the city, but those six blocks ran through the one of the most dangerous of neighborhoods. They had often remarked, the two of them, on what a difference there was between their streets. Jess could be out after dark in her own neighborhood without having to be too cautious, whereas her cousin never considered doing anything after dark other than locking her door tightly.

But she figured that as long as she remained wary and didn’t call too much attention to herself, she should be able to make to Marta’s and back without injury or larceny committed against her person.

Moving briskly, Jess had passed the two blocks of residential buildings which bordered her own neighborhood and was now moving into the industrial section which marked the No Man’s Land of the area that was more often than not referred to as a “demilitarized zone” by local law enforcement. It was easy to hide in the shadows and conduct all kinds of criminal activity. There seemed to be a bar on every corner, where men spent their paychecks in beer and billiard games, if not more forbidden pleasures beckoned.

Passing one of these establishments, she recognized it as one she and Marta visited previously, it was called El Sol, and bore a gaudy painting of an Aztec-style sunburst rendered in psychedelic colors against the black-colored brick of the building. Jess recalled a long Saturday night in which the two of them had perched at the bar, fending off drunken warehouse workers, waiting to meet a guy Marta worked with and his friend. It was a double-date of sorts, although it turned out to be more of a singular disaster. As soon as the pair arrived, Marta virtually ignored Jess and wrapped herself around Johnny, whose visage constantly bore an expression of pained martyrdom. Jess could see why Marta was attracted to him – they both had the same taste in men – as he was dark and craggy, his face all sharp menacing angles. His eyes were like an oil slick, completely unreadable but fascinating nonetheless. Johnny was certainly more interesting than the guy she was stuck with: a milquetoast blond who was just a little too neat and tidy to arouse any kind of discernable emotion within her. He was nice, though, buying her drinks and listening to her chatter about anything she could bring to mind, keeping at bay the possibility that she would take him home with her. And then, after about an hour which seemed interminable, someone appeared at Johnny’s elbow, eager to discuss something; and the minute she saw the intruder, the bottom dropped out of her world.

Jess, having drifted into reverie as she walked down the street, slammed into some unmovable obstacle and stumbled backwards, almost hitting the pavement.

“Hey!” she called out, more in surprise than annoyance.

“You ought to watch where you’re going,” a voice dark and low informed her, “this is a bad neighborhood.”


Johnny looked up at him, first in annoyance and then, understanding.

“Hey,” he said in greeting, then pulled a small wad of bills out of his pocket and handed it to him without another word.

The other guy stood out from the regulars by possessing some indefinable quality. He was tall and broad-shouldered like many of them, Hispanic like most of them, and kept his head clean-shaven like more than a few. Heavy brows framed curious eyes and a goatee set off a sensuous mouth that also appeared to have a streak of cruelty inherent: it smirked around the edges. Jess suddenly felt weak, looking at the hand which took the money from Johnny, imaging what those fingers would feel like inside of her, or cupped around her ass. He stared at her over the heads of her companions and she flushed, realizing her observation was obvious to him.

“Close your mouth,” Marta whispered to her.

He continued to stare, but his expression was blank. Jess wanted to break the power of his gaze, but could not, it held her as fast as a pin driven through an insect. Something deep within was melting in the crucible of his scrutiny: a river of molten gold waiting for the cold iron to shape the jewel within. His hardness, her softness. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.


Those eyes, they pinned her anew. But his gaze mocked her.

“So, what brings little girls like you around here at this time of night?”

Heart in her throat, ready to leap out, struggling to breathe, struggling to speak.

“What do you care?”

“Oh I have to care,” he said, the same tone again, a purring menace. “This is my watch, you see, and I can’t have little girls wandering in blindly. Someone could get hurt.”

“You don’t own the street.”

“Don’t I? Do you really want to find out if that’s true, little girl?”


Though lust was slowing her reactions, the world rendered in molasses around her, Jess noticed little details about him. He wore one of those ribbed undershirts that were referred to as “wifebeaters,” his was a heather gray shade. He wore denim Dockers and a long-sleeved flannel shirt was tied loosely around his waist. She couldn’t detect a trace of stubble on his head, just smooth brown skin which made her burn to contemplate what it would feel like under her fingertips. He was thick but well-muscled everywhere, the set of his neck and shoulders solid, his arms flexed slightly, all the better to see the veins which appeared faintly blue against the umber of his flesh. One of his shoulders bore a tattoo of the same sunburst which graced the side of the building. She wondered if he was the owner of El Sol. Each of his earlobes was pierced three times, and the lobes themselves were decorated with a series of silver rings, progressing in size, but even the largest were smaller than the type of hoops women favored. A small, flat silver disc gleamed against one of his nostrils. Finally, he opened his mouth slightly and put his tongue against his front teeth. Jess thought she saw another flash of silver when he opened his mouth. Then he was gone, and she watched his broad frame melt into the crowd which occupied the room.


“Look, I’ve got to get to my cousin’s, she’s sick.”

“Oh I’m not trying to stop you.”

“Then what the fuck is your problem?”

“Aren’t you a feisty one?” The way in which he enunciated the word “feisty” made her shiver, though the air around her was neither hot nor cold.


Ten minutes later, Jess feigned a headache and left them all there, refusing the blond’s offer to walk her home. Pausing in the parking lot, glancing surreptitiously at the people milling about, engaged in bullshitting sessions and secret alliances alike; she looked around with a nagging suspicion that someone was watching her. And who else would it be, if not the dark stranger? But she could not discern his direct surveillance, though the shadows were abundant and she was certain he occupied one of them, a voyeur to her discomfort.

She rushed home and could barely make it inside her door before practically tearing off her jeans and underwear, sitting spread-eagled on the couch, fingers sliding into her cunt as she put his face on her fantasy of the stalking stranger.

He follows me all day. I notice him first at the supermarket, then the drugstore, and when I look out my window when I get home, there he is across the street. His stare devours me whole. I already feel violated, though he hasn’t touched me. My heart won’t stop pounding and I shake, staring at my bolted door. But then, suddenly, he’s gone. So I unlock the door and get ready to do some laundry. As I take a basket and begin sorting the clothes on my bed, he grabs me from behind, placing his hand over my mouth. It’s so big that it almost covers my nose as well. He has an erection and I can feel it pressing against my ass as he leans his weight into me, pushing me onto the bed. I am so stunned with surprise that I cannot think to move, much less flee. With obvious strength he pulls down my pants and brings up my hips. To my secret shame I find that there is no resistance when he penetrates me. He is thick and he barely fits as he rams into me. I gasp, somewhere between fear and desire.

When Jess was done, trembling and panting, fingers sticky with thwarted lust, she wondered what she would say if she ever saw him again.


“L-look,” she said, stammering, “you know you’ve seen me before, right? I’ve been around.”

“Yes. But I still wonder why someone like you would come around here.”

“Well, I think y-you’re my type.”

He chuckled. It was an evil sort of chuckle, like the kind the villains made as they tied pretty, helpless girls to the tracks and waited for the oncoming train.

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I tend to be hard on women.”

“But that is my type.”

“Really? Because I don’t really care that you’re creaming your panties for me right now.” He stepped up until he was mere inches from her face. She knew he was tall, but saw he wore a pair of steel-toed boots that put him at just about 6’, towering over her 5’5 frame. Her eyes darted around, not knowing where to rest. A silver chain lay coiled around his neck, faintly gleaming in the halogen light of the parking lot.

“I am not concerned with wanting things, like you are. I take things. I don’t desire anything.”

“Or anyone?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He stepped back, and his arms crossed his chest, which made the muscles of both stand out even further. Jess had to concentrate on her feet, feeling the sidewalk beneath them, as her thoughts were making her dizzy.

“Tell me why I should want anyone, little girl.”

“Stop calling me that!” The volume of her voice surprised even her.

His answer was to take one large hand and close it around her throat.

“Keep talking your shit and I’ll feed you to the dogs.”

She swooned, not caring what happened at that moment.

“Because the story is wrong.”

“What story?” she asked

“The big bad wolf doesn’t try to eat Little Red Riding Hood.” He leaned in to whisper into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “The wolf stops her in the dark part of the forest to do other things. Things they can only hint at in a fairy tale. And no will hear her cries for help. There is no one to save her.”

Her head lolled back in his grip, slightly.

“I don’t care,” she said, exhaling as she did so, “I don’t care, I don’t care.”


His lair was not far from his assumed place of business, but equally mired in secrecy.

They had walked down an adjacent alleyway from the street and he pressed a code into a panel set into the wall of an anonymous warehouse then pulled the entrance door open. It closed with a loud clunk behind Jess, who flinched slightly. Though he hadn’t seen her start, he chuckled just the same.

As in all dark places, this one was cold, and every sound seemed to echo loudly. Jess had only the shadow of his back to follow, and he led her through a series of empty spaces. Then he paused, and turning suddenly, swept Jess up into his arms while grasping her throat. A hand wound through her hair and his mouth was open against her neck, she could feel the daggers of his teeth and the rasp of his beard.

Just the feel of his exhalation against her skin made her liquid inside, the heat growing intolerable as she felt the crotch of her underwear begin to saturate. He put one hand between her legs and held her there, feeling the small pulse pounding all out of proportion. She slid against his palm with urgency as he fitted his mouth over hers, stealing her breath, filling the space with his tongue, as hers touched the warm metal of the stud lodged in the center.

His tongue violated her much as she imagined another part of him would, thick and wide as he crammed it down her throat, fighting the gag reflex but also thrilling at the attendant sensations: his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her body, his body touching hers. After the kiss he picked her up effortlessly and brought her to a mattress in the middle of the floor. It bore no bedding, and smelled as if it had just come out of the plastic wrapping. He dropped her onto it and undid his pants with a casual disdain. Jess tore at her jeans and underwear, wanting only to feel him against her again. And as soon as she tossed aside those articles of clothing he dropped to his knees and propped her up, his hands cradling her ass. No time to prepare for his assault, as he penetrated her with all the finesse of a battering ram. But Jess was happy to be lost to sensation, as his cock filled her again and again, feeling her own wetness slide against her skin, dripping across her labia and thighs as he moved out and in. He did not speak, only grunted with each thrust. She could tell he was pacing himself, waiting for her pleasure, but not paying attention to how she obtained it. Continual waves of bliss pulsated against her clitoris and labia as she felt his glans push up against the walls of her vagina, as well as the cervix. She moved her legs higher, so he could achieve greater depth. He responded by pushing deeper and harder and she cried out, sinking her nails into his arms. He bit at her calf in turn, his grunts becoming growls. She growled at him in response, guttural commands with her eyes flashing, urging him on. He finally tired of the effort, rolling them both over and grabbing Jess’ hips. He brought her down on him over and over again until finally he screamed, and she could feel his orgasm: feel his scrotum tighten against her pubic hair, feel the spurt of his semen within her, thick and warm. Her body continued to jerk like a marionette whose strings were slack as he held her in place. His entire body was tense, stretched taunt.

Jess moved to lay upon his chest, beaded with sweat, but he stopped her.

“Not so fast, little girl.”

Confusion crossed her face, briefly, to be replaced by a stony glare. She knew the game. Wincing, she slid off his phallus, wondering at its’ continued tumescence.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, to have something like that inside you?”

She shrugged, not wanting to encourage his ego after his dismissal.

“I’m sure you have to run off to Grandma’s, but don’t worry,” he said, getting to his feet. His cock preceded him like a lance hung low.

“Why?”

He took her hand and pulled her further into the room, into the part where the light from the grimy windows did not reach.

“Because I brought Grandma to you.”

He opened an adjoining door to reveal Marta, trussed against the far wall. She hung from chains which moved with the air current and when she turned to face them, she smiled. She had been marked by some kind of violence: her skin was streaked with blood welling from numerous cuts, her lower lip was swollen, her legs bore darkening bruises.

“Now,” he said, pushing Jess into the room and closing the door behind him, “it’s time for the Big Bad Wolf to have his fun.”