The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(66)

“Have you been to one of these parties before?” After all, she seemed so self-confident—the complete opposite to Ella herself.

“Several. I’m kind of a groupie,” the redhead said conspiratorially. She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t.”

“No, I haven’t,” Ella admitted. “First time.” She gave what she hoped was a friendly smile, trying to belie her nerves.

“Hmm. Well, you’ll be in for a bit of a surprise then,” the redhead said. “By the way, I’m Anna.”

“Ella. What do you mean by ‘surprise’?”

“Well…” Anna lowered her voice as the van door slammed and the vehicle began to move slowly out of the stadium grounds, “Zainon has a bit of a reputation for being a kinkster. So his parties are… unusual. Kinky, you know? A lot of sex, drugs and rock’n’roll.”

Digesting this information, Ella glanced around the van at all the women. “Without guys?” she said. Was she going to be in some kind of harem?

Anna laughed. “Of course not! Zainon has a huge crew; friends, musicians, security, the works. All men. Many of them attractive. Not nearly as handsome as him, of course, but they’re still fun to play with.”

I’m in over my head. Am I about to have my cherry popped by a sweaty roadie with hairy shoulders? Ella thought in a panic.

“Are you okay? You look terrified all of a sudden.” Anna was peering at her, a little line of concern between her neatly penciled brows.

“I. Um. I’m fine,” Ella managed. “Er. I don’t suppose there’s any alcohol at these parties?”

Anna began to laugh so hard that she ended up snorting. “That was a good one!” she managed at length, her shoulders still shaking. “Oh, dear. Is there any alcohol.” She wiped her eyes. “I think we’re going to be good friends.” Suddenly her expression changed, a cold stillness entering her gaze. “So long as you stay the fuck away from my Zainon.”



It had been an interminably long, awkward drive after Anna’s bizarre little outburst, and Ella was relieved when the van finally rolled to a stop. As she and the other girls got out, she noticed with surprise that they weren’t at any sort of hotel. Instead they stood in front of a large, bleak warehouse. But for the muffled bass throbbing within, there would have been no clue that anything was happening inside, let alone a party. Still, the night was growing colder and she was relieved when everyone was shepherded to a side door.

It was a shame Anna had turned out to be something of a psycho, as Ella could really have done with a friend as she followed the other young women into a dimly lit room.

“You can leave your coats and bags here, pick up a ticket,” a clerk said, motioning them to form a queue. Ella hadn’t brought a coat, nor did she have a bag. Anastasia had everything, she realized with a start—the only thing Ella had slipped into her little purse was her ID. Unwilling to hand that over, she shuffled directly past the clerk, wondering how on earth she was going to get home afterwards.

Those thoughts fled her mind as soon as she stepped into what had been done up to look like a huge ballroom. Great chandeliers swung from the ceiling, curiously at odds with the brightly colored lights flashing everywhere. The music, which had only been muffled outside, was now much louder, the bass thumping as hard as Ella’s heart. Various couches and chairs were scattered about everywhere, as well as tall tables, and there were several vast mirrors on the walls. The overall impression was bizarre, to say the least. But what really took Ella’s breath away were the people there. Despite her misgivings, there seemed to be a good mix of both male and female, but what she hadn’t expected were the various states of undress of both sides. Several people were strutting around completely naked save for shoes and jewelry, and still others were down to their underwear. Mostly women, she noted, hoping that was an option and not a requirement.

Someone walked past her with a tray of drinks and Ella took one, not caring what the glass contained as long as it was something alcoholic. The liquid was sweet and slightly fizzy, and she swallowed it gratefully, letting it soothe her parched throat. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and finished it in no time. Setting the glass down on the nearest table, she looked around for another waiter.

Then she saw a tall, broad-shouldered figure with black hair, and her heart skipped several beats.

It was him.

Zainon Matthews. In the flesh.



Despite the fact that he was still high on adrenaline after his performance, and he was surrounded by gorgeous people all having a good time, Zainon was feeling restless. Bored, even. It was always the same thing. Sleep late, get ready, perform, party, repeat. Some of the people remained the same while others—usually the women—changed from night to night, but the routine was getting old. Stale, somehow. As he looked around, swirling his tumbler of whiskey, he considered the irony: it was his after party and yet he would have bet everything he owned on the fact that everyone else was having more fun than him.

The novelty had worn off.

In the beginning, he had relished every second of his newfound success and popularity. With his dark good looks, he had never had any problems attracting the opposite sex, but ever since he’d become famous, he’d been confronted with a whole new problem. It seemed as though the women were attracted to his name, his fortune, his fame. His status. They were all the same; painted, beautiful, polished, exuding savoir faire and experience. Nothing seemed to faze or even move them. All that mattered was that they could go home to their friends and brag that they’d spent the night—or even a few hours—with the legendary rock star, Zainon Matthews.