Death By Forest

You know the deal. You gotta be 18 or older, you gotta be mature enough, and you have to be able to stomach minor violence and the concept of rape and homosexuality to read this story. Consider yourself warned. Any and all feedback welcome. Send to the email address in my profile - click my name above.

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Sunset. I come reaming out of the poorly lit parking lot with my radio cranked and my purple fuzzy dice dancing furiously from the rearview mirror. Crushed beer cans litter the passenger seat and the newly carpeted floor. I had lost my cell phone in the abhorred mess a few weeks ago, which I figure should be in another dimension by now. I drunkenly try to light the cigarette dangling carelessly from my bottom lip, and then holler out slurred obscenities as the wind snatches it and carries it away. For a brief moment, I seriously consider reversing the car to chase after it, until I recall owning an entire pack of them. That, and it was far too cold to get out and search for it. I pass by a corner house with a few teenage girls sitting on it, and slow the souped-up Ford down just enough to get a couple of whistles out at them. Then, I peel away and onto the highway. I'm about to attempt to light another cigarette, when I feel something snap from inside the car.

"Ahhh crap, there goes my muffler." I could almost picture the pipe tearing up the road underneath as I drive by. By the time I get outside the city, it's completely dark. I've never been up this way before, because no one has ever driven me. Now, to hell with them all, I finally learned to drive myself. Granted, I got my license a bit late, but at least I'm still young enough to see where I'm going. Speaking of being able to see, where did all the light posts go? As I drive further and further, my headlights seem to become dimmer and dimmer. I also seem to be losing speed. What gives? Shot mufflers only make your car noisy, not lose power. At least that's what happens in all the Minakee commercials. Pretty soon, the lights die and the entire car follows. Shit. What's a guy to do? I fumble around in the complete darkness, trying to open my glove compartment, thinking there might be a flashlight in there. A while later, I realize I've been trying to pry off the speedometer. When I manage to find the glove compartment, it's locked. Frustrated, I exit the car. The moment the driver's side door opens, I go crashing to the undisturbed mound of snow on the ground. I hope someone; somewhere is getting a kick out of this.

Feeling the intense need to return the beer I've been renting, I stagger off into the woods. I quite literally have to hang onto trees to keep from toppling over. I've never felt so ungainly in my life. While relieving myself, a spotted brown owl glares at me from a few yards away with the biggest, most disturbing eyes I've ever seen. It hoots at me and flies away. Great, now the surrounding wildlife is mocking me.

"Get a life, you stupid bird." I mutter to myself as I struggle to get my belt back on, admiring the smoke trail my breath is forming in the air. I turn around to see where I came from so I could get back to the car, but I had turned around so many times trying to find a decent enough tree that I no longer knew which direction I was facing. I was lost. Utterly and completely lost. And if that wasn't bad enough, it then started to snow again. Heavily. There was nothing left to do then but continue walking. What bewildered me was the fact that I couldn't see any of the stars through the thick layer of leaves that never seemed to thin out, even when I stood in the middle of a clearing, yet all this snow found it's way to the top of my head. This has been the perfect buzz kill, I think to myself. I'm just about to kick a nearby tree with all my strength when I smell something burning. I immediately perk up and start following my nose. The scent trail leads me almost a half a mile, where I peek out of a row of bushes to discover a small, unassuming log cabin with a stream of charcoal-gray smoke pouring upwards from the chimney. It looked like something straight out of a Snow White fairytale. Any moment now, a tribe of squealing midgets are going to come marching out that door with striped leg warmers, pointed elf hats and ice picks. I begin walking closer towards the back of the little house, singing under my breath with a large drunken smile, "We make toys for Santa Claus…"

Through a small, foggy window, the top of someone's head moves quickly across my view. I stop singing immediately, smelling some kind of roast chicken or something emanate forth into my sinuses. Drinking has always made me ravenous as a side effect, and that roast chicken smelled damn good. I toyed with the idea of just going up to the front door and giving the residents some sob story about being a kidnapped and starving millionaire who has been roaming around this unforgiving forest for days looking for a kind soul to pay back loads of cash for taking care of me. Ahh, I'm a crummy liar and I know it. But what I wouldn't give for a piece of that chicken.

I must have been thinking about it more than paying attention to where my clumsy ass was going, because the next thing I knew, I had walked right into a row of aluminum trash cans. Just then, I stood perfectly motionless, begging my clouded mind to come up with a really good excuse for why I was trying to sneak up on this house before it's residents come out and blow my head off with a hunting rifle. All it was able to come up with was a soft meow. Sure enough, I hear the front door open. Maybe I'll luck out and they won't come looking by the side…

"Who's out there?" A loud, commanding male voice booms in no particular direction.

"Meow?" I slowly back away from the garbage cans, my eyes glued to where he would emerge if he chose to check things out further.

"Hey!" He points at me, kitchen knife in hand, coming from the opposite direction. Damn those open driveways. "What the hell do you think you're doing??" He comes closer, waving the knife at me a little.

He was a pretty big guy, maybe just over six feet, shoulder-length dark brown hair and a short beard and mustache. All in all, since he was bigger than me, both in muscle and height, had I been sober, my first instinct would be to run. I, however, was far from it and wouldn't get two feet in the messed up state I was in. So, I had to think up something fast.

"Ah…I…uhh…" I was stuck. Speechless. Clueless. So, I did the only thing a man in my pickle would do. I grabbed my chest, made a loud, pained cry and pretended to pass out.

He just proceeds to stand there, completely baffled. Obviously unsure of what to do with me. Hey, as long as I don't end up dead or crippled, what do I care? After a long pause, he drags me inside the cabin by my legs. Halfway through the door, I hear a soft thud and I realize that it must have been my wallet. To my surprise, though, he didn't go to pick it up. Instead, he carries me onto his warm, plush couch, brings a thick quilt over and tucks me in like I was a little kid, then scurries off into the kitchen, which was clearly visible from where I was laying. I dared not open my eyes for more than a second or two.

This place looked really cozy. The hardwood floors were cleverly hidden by dozens of thick, mismatched area rugs, and the area rugs were likewise hidden by a whole bunch of rustic chairs, pillows, desks and the big, soft couch I was cocooned on. The smell of roasted chicken and garlic potatoes filled the large rooms. I see him filling up a plate with food in the kitchen, and my wallet just lying there near the door. I think that it might be worth it to jump up, grab it and take off, but the nano-second I see him start to turn around, I play dead again. I hear him walking towards me and I try not to panic.

"I was just having some dinner, but there's always room for a guest."

I hear ceramic clank against wood and the smell of that delicious food consumes me. No. You keep playing dead, you idiot, or this guy's going to kick your ass so hard you'll be pissing shoe leather for a week.

"So I guess whenever you wake up, there will be food waiting for you. Of course, it will be cold, but if you turn out to be halfway decent, I just might warm it up for you."

Talk about an incentive. However, the tone of voice he was using bothered me. It was as if he knew I was just faking and he was just waiting for me to give myself up. There was a long pause where he was silent. I then hear his footsteps walk away, and then a soft click. A low, almost mechanical voice fills the room with news of a heavy snowstorm, warning residents to stock up on canned food now before the snow piles up to at least five to seven feet.

"You hear that, stranger?" The man's voice drowns out the radio. "You were damn lucky I dragged you in here before you were crushed under all that." Another pause follows as he begins to walk over to the door. I open my eyes just long enough to see him pick up my wallet and look into it smiling.

"Aww…Christ." I breathe quietly, shutting my eyes tight.

"Dean H. Carlyle." He muses, walking over to me again. "Hair: blond, eyes: green." Another short pause. I can feel him looming over me. "Height: 5'9", weight: 164 lbs. Yeah, yeah, your social security number, your driver's license ID…where does it describe your personality? Well hey, it says on the back of this thing that you're donating your heart, liver, lungs, bone marrow and kidneys when you die."

"WHAT?!?!?!" I shoot up into a sitting position, my eyes wide with shock and fear. I was irrationally afraid of death, let alone ever wanting to donate anything to medical research. He bursts out into hysterical laughter and I realize what a moron I am.

"I can't believe that worked!" Already kneeling on the floor facing me, he buries his head into the edge of the couch cushion where my chest had just been. He looks up again, still giggling wildly. "So I take it you're feeling better, Mr. Carlyle."

Head in my hands, I feel slightly sick and dizzy from the booze wearing off. "Look, man. My car died and I had to take a leak and then I was lost and then I stumbled across your…"

"Stop" Still smiling, he holds a hand up to emphasize. "I understand. Your ID says you live in the city, so I figured as much. Here, have some food."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I nod and tear that chicken a new asshole. "Mmm….thanks."

He just sits there on the floor, watching me eat with that stupid smile on his tanned face. After a short while, I stop cold, glaring back at him, a piece of breast meat hanging out of my mouth. "What"? He tilts his head to the side. "I just think you're an entertaining eater." His smile widens. "I'm Russ. Can I call you Dean?"

I nod absently, going back to my meal.

"So why'd you drive all the way out here, Dean? You on vacation or something?" He begins sliding onto the couch next to me. I start getting really nervous.

"No, I… I just wanted to drive somewhere nice. It's been a long week." I swallow hard and move away a little. "I felt something snap in the front and my lights dimmed and then my whole car just died, so…" I trail off nervously. I always talk mindlessly when I'm nervous.

"Hmm. Sounds like your fan belt snapped. You don't know much about a car engine, do you?"

I slowly shake my head no. "And I work for an auto insurance company. Go figure."

"You really shouldn't be so nervous. I'm not going to kill and eat you, you know." He gives me a reassuring smile. Needless to say, I'm not so reassured.

For a few hours after that, we talk, finding out about each other, and yes, I eventually loosen up around him. He isn't so bad after all. He collects old style coke bottles and really cool swords and morning stars and other cool shit. Me, the closest thing I have to a collection is the swarm of crushed beer cans in my car. I find out he's a professional contractor, and that he built this house himself. At about four in the morning, we were both pretty tired, so he takes me upstairs and fixes a guest bedroom for me. I thank him profusely and we wish each other goodnight.

You know the whole strange bed thing? Well, usually I can't sleep for the life of me in a strange bed, but this time, I fell out like a light. I have this dream that I'm in the middle of the woods and there's a man made of thin tree branches and snow slowly undressing me. His leaves brush up against my soft, chilled flesh, wandering down to caress my inner thighs and over my underwear, up and down the shaft of my aching cock. I begin to come to, and can barely make out the shadowed figure looming directly over my face. I can feel a pressure on me, like someone was lying on top of me. My eyes opened fully and I realized it was Russ, licking his lips and holding a short katana with the thick, sharp blade pressed across my neck.

"Russ…what…what are you…" My eyes go wide with fear and disbelief. My hands reach up to grab his broad shoulders.

"Hush, Dean." He whispers harshly to me, intense arousal clearly evident in his voice and in the rock hardness that's grinding up against my crotch. "You of all people should know nothing in life comes for free. Room, board and a hot meal doesn't come cheap either, and from what I saw in your wallet, you don't have nearly enough to pay for it."

"Russ…you're scaring the shit outta me. Stop this." My voice cracks from fear as one of my hands wraps over the hand that's wielding the sword.

"However, I'm sure I could be persuaded to let you pay in other ways." He smiles again, but with a look in his intense steely-blue eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. His one free hand reaches down and starts feeling up my side. He must have been molesting me in my sleep, because for some reason I'm rock hard as well.

"Get off of me or I'll beat the ever-loving shit out of you!" I shout in his face in almost a blind panic. He is, without a doubt, much stronger than I am. He works with his hands and I work behind a desk all day.

He outright laughs in my face. "Aww, Dean, I thought you were smarter than that. Talking that way to a man who has a sword to your throat. You think I don't know how to use this thing? Believe me, if you don't give me what I want, I'd think nothing of slitting that pretty little neck of yours."

He was right. He knew how terrified I was of death, so now he has me right where he wants me. I close my eyes tight and pant heavily as Russ slowly applies more pressure on the blade, swiftly jerking it so it leaves a tiny little nick. Warm tears flood my eyes, then pour aimlessly down my temples.

"Please, Russ…don't hurt me, please."

"You don't want to be hurt? Then cooperate." He grins again, propping himself up into a sitting position, dragging the sword downward over my chest, then further still until it reaches the elastic of my underwear. In one quick movement, he grabs the elastic, pulls it outwards and slashes it.

I can't help but scream.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" He drinks in the sight of my fully rigid dick hugging onto my flesh by the thin pool of precum leaking from the head. "I like what I see. C'mon, take off that shirt. I wanna see everything."

Reluctantly, I do. He sits there in the near complete darkness, watching me with the tip of the sword pointed in my direction. The orange light coming from outside gleamed off the sharp blade, making the scene even creepier than it already was. With the other hand, he lowers the rim of his sweatpants and takes out the hugest, thickest piece of meat I had ever seen. I've laid eyes on a few, back in the high school showers, sheerly out of curiosity, but this thing was nothing short of a monster. He licks his lips at me again, beginning to stroke it. His fingers could barely even close completely around the thing.

He stops stroking himself long enough to scoop the precum from my stomach with two fingers and dab it on the head of his cock. I just lay there beneath him, trembling, unable to think, unable to move or even breathe. He glances down at his bulbous erection, drooling a gob of saliva all over it. He lets go of it and quickly moves closer to me so that his pelvis is pressed firmly up against my ass.

"You…" He bites his lip. "You are going to be fucking tight." He remarks, grabbing one of my hips with his immense strength and pulling my ass up slightly into the air. He grabs his prick again, pressing the inflamed head hard against the opening of my asshole. I begin sobbing uncontrollably, begging him pathetically not to invade me. He shakes his head. "Cooperate with me or I'll cut your fucking head off." He growls, hunching over me like an animal. "If you really want, you can jerk yourself off. It'll hurt less."

He spits on his dick again, and I quickly grab my own and start to pump it rapidly. He reaches down, pushing the enormous head carefully into me. He lets out a loud groan of pleasure, pushing himself the rest of the way little by little. It hurts me like a bitch. I squirm and cry and beg him to stop but to no avail. He doesn't stop until I'm completely impaled by that huge member. With one hand, I'm gripping onto his shoulder, and the other is stroking myself harder and with more vigor than I've ever masturbated with in my life. He begins to withdraw and I cry out in pain again, but when he pushes it in, quicker this time, it actually didn't hurt all that bad. In fact…

"That's it, Dean, take my cock. Oh god, you have no idea how fucking juicy and tight you are." I can't seem to find the breath in me to respond. The huge calloused hand that's holding the katana reaches over and the blade is next to my neck once more. With all the wild jerking and rocking he's doing, a large part of me fears he might slip and take my head clean off without meaning to. He slows down for a few moments and I hear another spitting sound. I feel his thick drool pour all over my ass and the thick shaft of his dick. That did it. His member now begins sliding in and out of me so easily, it's able to impale me completely with every maddened stroke.

"Russ….hahh….please, go…easy…" I pant and gasp like a dog, brows knit tightly and teeth clenched.

"Oh no, you have a debt to repay, remember? I get to go as hard and fast as I please." And he does. Resting the fist holding the weapon on the pillow next to my head, he uses the other hand to lift my hips completely off the bed to meet his thrusts. I'm being filled in a way I never thought was possible, and I'm being brutalized and pleasured at the same time in a way I never knew existed. I can't help it- I wrap my legs around his waist as he impales me with amazing strength. I can feel his arousal heighten by the trembling of his body and the sweat droplets raining down his face. My fist jerks off my cock so rapidly, I can barely feel it anymore. All I feel is his huge piece of meat spearing me over and over again and I was torn. My mind was screaming for a way to get out of this, and all my body wanted was more. I feel this heavy build-up, grow stronger and stronger, deep within my soul. I did what I could to still try to fight it, but it was pointless. Utterly and completely…

"YES!!" I heard myself scream out at the top of my lungs as I rake the nails on my free hand slowly down his back. "Uhhgod…Fuck me, Russ, FUCK ME!!" I'm pumping back with everything I've got now, and it's going even deeper because of the joint effort.

"Oh, you want it now, huh, Dean? Well, I'm gonna give it to you!" I hear the metallic clunk of the katana hit the floor, and I don't care. He grabs my legs with both hands and pushes them back towards my head. I let out a loud cry of pain and pleasure. His cock is filling me so deep, I could swear I fucking taste it. His bearded face hangs so close over my face that I feel his hot panting down my throat. He continues to lift my ass off the bed with every push, but with the other hand, he grabs my ponytail and thrusts my face up towards his, and shoves his tongue equally as deep into my mouth. I can't help but reciprocate passionately.