Darkside Stories - The Fool

byTsune©

The men in the board room stood in unison, pushing their chairs softly behind them, satellite faces devoid of expression though their eyes growled like dark ghosts.

"They will want to see you walk with," Li Jun gently lowered me to my feet, "these things. Just to the boss's door."

I stood still for a moment, looking at my pale feet against the marble, and I was angry, maybe tired of this now. Maybe I was done with this adventure. I looked up at the board members, followed their eyes tracing over my body and something in me sparked like the last match of a matchbook. I'd give them their stupid little show.

I made my way to the boss's office door, my steps impeded by the wooden bars so that my gait was reduced to a shuffle—stiff, jerky, and I could feel my flesh jiggle with each step. I made sure I moved close to the suits on my side of the table, their arms held straight at their sides, and I dared their fingers to reach out for me as I jerked past them; the men towered over me and I could imagine a scent coming off of them in this scentless chamber—it smelled like dangerous spice, something too expensive to sell out in the open, something that could get you killed but could also buy you a life you'd only imagined in dreams.

I made it to the door; my heart was racing like a mouse before a fox.

"Going to unshackle you now," said Li Jun.

My limbs freed, I entered the office of the boss of the dead.

###

The door closed behind me.

Smoke of incense—something that recalled tall temples perched atop spindly mountains—lent a thick haze to the room and on the other side of these clouds sat whom I presumed was the boss-man. He was tall, like the others, but portly, his wide face and thick neck looking strangled in his white collar and crimson tie. His eyes stared at me as if he could scan my thoughts and test my flesh with invisible fingertips.

"Welcome to my world, little one."

"167 centimeters but okay." I winked and stretched my arms high above my head, letting my hands drop as I looked at the floor to ceiling bookshelves, felt the rich pile of the rug beneath my toes.

"Do that again."

"I don't perform for anyone."

"Not in a long while, no, you haven't."

"Gross—have you been recording me?"

"No. But I have watched you. You can be quite the exhibitionist."

I exhaled, loudly, as the fun drained out of the moment as quickly as the incense smoke had disappeared. Parlor-trick creeper.

"Come closer to me."

"I'll not. I'm going to sit in this chair in front of your desk until you let me know when I'm free to go."

"I'm not a police precinct, Byx Ferguson. And I've never been to your apartment. At least, not physically. I know for you, it's been a long time since you were fucked. Over here, a month goes by—over there, that month lasts a year."

I stared at him, still visibly annoyed.

"Your whole building is as haunted as I'm obese. Does that give you any ideas?"

I continued to stare at him.

"You're in the land," he pushed up from his large, leather chair, "of ghosts. You got a little cocktail distilled from scared herbs that the good doctor injected you with in the subway station. You're a precious guest. A rare treat. If you think we're all staring at you because we're attracted to your body then you're only half correct."

"You want my body?"

"In a carnal sense—I don't want to inhabit it. I may be fat but I'm content with the gender I presently occupy."

I twirled my fingers in a pattern in front of me, tired and bored of the game. "What am I doing here, boss?"

"We want you. All of us want you."

I pulled my legs up onto the chair. "That's nice."

He walked around his desk and leaned against it, hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Just because we want you, Byx, doesn't mean we're going to have you. Only you can decide that."

"A relief. You could also be lying."

He reached behind him on the desk and held a scroll. Untying the ribbon around the scroll, he let the parchment unroll to the floor. "We have contracts for everything. Any decision you make will demand terms, terms that will ensure your safety and well-being, and you and I will sign a contract guaranteeing it so."

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but that contract is written with the laws of the land of the ghosts in mind, am I right?"

"Correct."

"Where pray tell would I find a lawyer to defend me, should someone break that contract? Would I use a ouija board or just throw bones at a mirror and hope for the best?"

"A broken contract with a ghost doesn't require a lawyer. A broken contract with a ghost simply means the ghost ceases to exist. And while I would much rather be back in the land of the living, with proper food and drink and a sense of smell and taste, I'll take what I can get for now. My employees and I prefer to exist."

I got off the chair to stand in front of this man. No, this ghost. I wanted to examine him, see if I sensed any form, any heat, anything at all to indicate he was pulling my chain. He stood a good third of a meter taller than me. A strange memory of a scent coiled in a deep recess of my brain, tingling down my spine to my feet: delicious cologne, fine-milled soap, expensive fabric. I suddenly felt a spark of desire for this tower, this power-symbol; I wanted his hands on me and I wanted to climb him.

I swallowed the saliva that had gathered in my mouth, and put my hand on his chest. I could feel a heartbeat. I could also feel the unnatural heat emanating from his flesh, just like I could with Li Jun.

"The heat is our life-force," he said. "Everything you feel is our energy, coagulating in a sense, into form, into shape." He reached for my hand and I allowed him to bring it to his mouth and to kiss it, making an elaborate gesture with his small lips against my palm, tongueless but erotic nonetheless. He made to move to my wrist and I allowed him to, and then he gently ran a manicured fingernail down the length of my forearm. I pulled my hand away but I was sure he could tell the effect his touch had on me just by looking at my body.

I returned to my chair, my breathing deep and full of a hunger I was struggling to understand.

"You like me."

"You're okay." I smiled a little.

"There's something greater at stake here, so I want to get that explanation over-with before you make your decision."

"All right."

"Making love to a beautiful, living being is one thing—and it's no small potatoes—but the end game here is reincarnation. The fast track, not the natural way."

"Oh boy."

"I'm just going to spell it all out, then leave you for a minute to think about it."

I looked at him as if he'd sprouted another, smaller head out of his left eye. One with tentacles.

"This is the process: you make love to one of us. The doctor does his little ritual—just prayers and some special tea for you to drink, nothing scary. Next thing you wake up in the world of flesh in the best hospital, on your way home to recover."

"To recover from?"

"Childbirth. Under the gas you won't remember a thing. Time here goes much slower than in the land of the living, no nine month ordeal, nothing like that."

"And the baby I'm bringing into the world is, one of you?"

"Yes."

"Why would I do this?"

He took his hands out of pockets and gestured in the air. "Money. Lots and lots of money. Enough for you to live whatever adventure stirs your heart, every day for the rest of your life."

He left the room via a side door and I sat there, my head full of wheels, lights, and motion like cars zipping through the Cross-Harbour Tunnel.

###

He returned and I still didn't know what to say.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he said.

"What's your name?"

"Wang Yong."

"Prove to me that you're a ghost."

"Sure."

Wang Yong walked over to a wide, ebony cabinet on the opposite side of the room and opened a drawer. From this he removed a blue, leather case. He brought the case to the desk and opened it. A magnificent sword gleamed there against the velvet interior.

"Watch closely," said Wang Yong.

I gasped as he took the sword in both hands and held it to his throat. He slid the sword across the flesh and I could see the blade cut through, see it dig into his neck as if his flesh was butter. After he'd finished he showed me the sword: bloodless, gleaming, clean. His neck showed no evidence of a wound.

"There's so many other ways to prove to you where you are, and what I am. We've got time to explore that, but I'm an impatient man in some ways."

"What ways are those?"

"I want you, now, regardless of whether or not you're interested in my offer."

"That's been abundantly clear ever since I arrived in your little corner of heck. I could smell your thirst from a kilometer away. Also, at first I thought you'd taken my clothing. But that's not the case, is it?"

"Correct. The sacred herbs won't help articles of clothing—or any other material object for that matter—pass through the gates from your world to mine.

"I figured, but I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I'll call you Zhang. Zhang Min."

"Why?"

"Because you're quick." He tapped his temple and smiled, crooked teeth and all.

"Okay," I said, watching him. I couldn't help it; I smiled back. He had something going on about him. Something affable.

"Making love to you, Zhang Min, would be like taking a good, long, hour to appreciate a priceless work of art. If I even lasted that long."

"Flattery."

"Observation. Why, when the observation is positive, do so many subjects cry flattery?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, I am. Because they feel uncomfortable under such intense gaze."

"Possibly."

"But don't be. Look at me, Byx. I'm ugly, and I know that. But I am astute!" He chuckled. "I have seen so many things, so many people, sights, moments. I know what beautiful looks like. It comes from within, and radiates out to the divine structure in which it's encased."

"Okay."

"Would you just come here and sit on my lap? I'm drooling for you."

"I don't know."

Wang Yong returned to his chair and we sat, watching each other, little, wry smiles playing across our lips. He scooted his office chair back, small eyes sparkling with fascination as he unbuttoned his jacket, and slowly unzipped his fly.

"Really?"

"Wait. It gets better."

Wang adjusted his weight on the chair and fished out his dick, which sprang out of the opening of his boxers and pants, ridiculously large, scimitar-like and ridged, as if Wang had somehow descended from dragons.

"Oh hell no!" I said, laughing.

"Hold on," said Wang, laughing also, and as he did his crazy cock bounced up and down. "Just listen to me. You've gotta understand—my appearance here is a direct result of my shitty personality. My body wasn't like this in the mortal world, ha! Especially my dick, no. It was pretty small! Money makes everything bigger, am I right?"

"But here we both are looking at that gargantuan Mortal Combat dick, so."

"It's just energy, Byx. It adjusts to conform to the space it's allowed to enter."

My face was hot from laughing so hard. "Oh my honestly—what?"

"Tell me something you know about vampires."

"I know they...hate garlic?"

"Eh. Take it or leave it, that's probably false."

"They drink blood."

"And energy. Definitely true."

"They can't come into a house unless invited."

"Ha!"

"Ha?"

"That's bullshit. Well not entirely but it became bullshit for vampires. See, in Chinese culture, ghosts are some bad motherfuckers. We're given a lot of...weight," Wang slapped his prodigious stomach. "And over time, and because ghosts were just as frightening to the every-day man as vampires, a lot of the myths associated to one camp got transferred over to the other."

"Ghosts haunt houses, though—they don't ask for permission."

"If they lived in that house while flesh then yes. But if they did not—if they followed the person or just simply drifted along, then no. They cannot enter without permission."

"And so this little tale affects us, how?"

"Your sweet pussy, my dear, is like a house."

"Oh Christ."

"It is. Laugh all you want. Your body is yours, and I can't invade it without an invitation."

"Well, that puts me at ease, a bit. Again, assuming you're not lying."

"Why would I lie? I want you to want me. If I betray your trust that will surely never happen."

I had drawn my legs back to my body, and stared at him, my chin on my fists, fists resting on my knees.

"Come here. Please."

"Why?"

"I want to make delicious love to you. With your permission."

I got up from the chair. I walked to him.

He gathered me up in his arms and lifted me off the floor as if I were a doll. I straddled him, that science fiction cock of his pressed behind me, against my ass crack. He ran his fingers lightly up and down my upper arms and I broke out in gooseflesh and my nipples grazed his suit as he pulled me closer.

My god how I wanted to fuck the shit out of this strange, goofy, chubby ghost-man.

I pressed my mouth against his and despite his lack of orthodontic repair, his breath was cool, sweet, like rain on a Western winter morning mixed with a bit of tobacco. I kissed him hungrily, my tongue going crazy in his mouth. His hands were everywhere on me, grabbing, sometimes pinching, to which I'd groan and immediately laugh, and he'd laugh too. I couldn't stop kissing him, reveling in the comfort of his enormous lap and the heat coming off of him, his huge arms around me, his hands spanning regions of my skin.

He placed one hand against my throat and gently guided me away; I watched him suck my flesh, teasing my nipples with his tongue til it felt as if maybe I could cum just from that, it was so good. I pressed his head to me, combing through the thick salt and pepper hair while he sucked one nipple then the next, and I gasped and whispered something encouraging as I felt his hand smooth down my back. He gripped my ass and moved his fingers further down to press against me; I pushed back to drive them in and my hips moved against him of their own volition.

"Princess," he muttered, kissing my neck. "Hungry, sweet princess."

He'd pulled his fingers out of me pushed me back a little to make space for his hand; he trailed down and around to my fattening clit, tracing fingertips around the hood, then back down to fingerfuck me again. It had been too long since I'd fucked anyone and I couldn't do anything slow, couldn't wait, couldn't stop.

I balanced my feet on the edges of his chair and turned around on his lap, facing the desk, his cock in front of me now like a saddle horn.

"Wait, wait," he said. "Look at this." He pivoted the chair around to face the wall and pressed a panel with his shoe. The wall parted, giving way to a floor to ceiling mirror. My eyes shined with delight and lust and fun.

"Fuck, yes," I said, and then I paused. That crazy cock.

"If anything hurts," he whispered as he massaged my chest and gently twisted my nipples, making my eyes squint shut, making me groan, "you tell me and I will stop, immediately."

"Okay," I said, my breath making it difficult to talk.

He lifted me by the waist as effortlessly as if I were made of paper, and held me up, his arm around my belly while the other hand rubbed my cat, teasing the lips with fingers and spreading the fluid, painting myself with me. He grabbed his dragon-dick and pushed the smaller head against me, then into me. I panicked; I could feel the pain in my head though it didn't actually hurt.

"Just tell me to stop."

He pushed himself in a little deeper.

This is energy this isn't flesh. I slowed my breathing, concentrated on relaxing my body.

Wang pushed it in deeper. I opened my eyes to look in the mirror.

I was impaled on it, my lips spread wider than I'd ever seen, clit jutting out like a tiny dick itself, thighs gleaming with sweat and sweet liquid, and my red cheeks and sweaty face streaked with black tendrils of my own hair. His arm still around my belly, Wang pushed down on my right thigh with his other hand, pushing himself deeper into me—the part of the cock that seemed impossibly thick.

My pussy spasmed as I felt that interior, angelic spot explode with delight, and then his fingers were moving across my erect clit and circling it, softly tapping it, and he pushed himself deeper into me, halfway to the hilt before lifting me up to do it again, faster, and I became aware that in some distant place, lost in sweat and brilliant nerve endings, I was bellowing like a bear woken up from its cave. Up and down he lifted me and all I could do was lean back and love every fucking second of the ride as I shouted myself hoarse.

###

"You cry like a sweet, little cat when you're being fucked, but you roar like a lion when you cum. I love it. Forget Zhang Min, I'm calling you Mushi: Lioness."

He'd held me in his arms while I rested against him, swinging his chair gently back and forth and I heard a familiar sound coming from outside his office's windows: rain.

"How can it be raining?" I asked.

"Sometimes miracles happen in this crazy place."

III.




Wang let me out the side door, because I didn't want to see the board members and I didn't want to be carried anymore (and I didn't want to see Li Jun right now). I told Wang I was taking my liberty to explore my new surroundings and he didn't disagree.

Still and all, I was naked in this wasteland of ghosts, and I wasn't sure where to go or what to do. I didn't feel hunger or thirst, and I imagine that had to do with the vast difference in time between the here and the there. The elevator lights blinked down the sequence from floor 88 to the ground floor, and I combed my hair with my fingers, discovering that my sweat had vanished. I looked at my trembling legs and saw that there too, all evidence of my acts with Wang were gone.

I crept through the empty doorframe of Wang's nameless corporation and tread carefully over the field of glittering safety glass. Steam, or smoke, rose silently from chimneys in the distance. I heard the mournful cry of a train and wondered if anyone occupied its cars. I felt a sudden tug of fear and regret in the pit of my belly, a mix of homesickness and delayed shock at everything that had happened, but my curiosity pushed that aside and I walked out into the permanent half-night, watching black cranes fly in silent formation overhead and hearing the gurgle of a little stream winding its way between the larger streets, avenues and pedestrian paths.

I followed a sidewalk away from the high-rises behind me, and the sidewalk became a series of steps that followed the black stream, away from the broad avenue and towards a little park that shivered in the rain (as did I). The smokestacks and industrial area groaned and clanked in the night, in the distance and to the left of the park. The steps led me down into a little grassy square—beyond this, bamboo rose in the permanent twilight, bending in the wind and clacking against each other in that oddly comforting-frightening way. A path burrowed into the bamboo thicket.

"Can I wear bamboo?" I asked myself as I stepped gingerly over the hard, circular stumps of former stalks.

"Only after doing many strenuous things to it," said a voice somewhere in the midst of the glade. I followed the path for a few moments, then stopped: a small, black fox sat primly in the shadows, its golden eyes fixed on me. I looked behind me; there was no one else but me and this creature.

The fox turned around and trotted away, sneaking further into the bamboo grove, and I followed it.

The grove proved to be a lot larger than it had appeared. I was shivering, trembling, my arms hugging my torso as tight as I could. I knew that logically I couldn't feel cold, but just as I had been able to feel the heat of Li Jun and Wang, so now was I feeling my own energy draining beneath the relentlessness of this late night afterworld rainstorm.

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byTsune© 6 comments/ 5711 views/ 7 favorites

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