Gingerbread

Greta scrambled up the ladder and John followed. He noticed a trickle of wetness running down her inner thigh--his come--and felt a strong sense of ownership. He was eager to complete his claim by filling her other holes.

Up in the loft, craving the addictive touch of the one another, they fell back on the spread blankets that seemed to be there just for them. They couldn't get enough of one another. John just wanted to use Greta again and again, only realizing in the abstract that what they were doing was considered wrong, and not caring the least bit.

As he continued to exploit her for his pleasure, he could see by the window's moonlight the beginning of bruises appearing on her pale skin, and it only aroused him more. He could imagine her at a slightly younger age, going to their father for every little problem and expecting him to solve it. He realized with clarity why Lily had shut them both out, but more so Greta... Competition. While he knew his father would never cross that line, or even admit that the thought had entered his mind, it became clear that his sister being a hot blonde with big tits got her a little extra leeway.

He was filled with anger and desire and he realized how often his sister had used her wiles to get her way, and he knew his anger was reflected in the renewed freedom he felt to take what he wanted.

Besides, she objected to none of it--encouraging all of it: pain, abuse, and humiliation all seemed to stimulate both of them even more. He lost count of how many times they fucked, realizing that it was more than he should probably be capable of, and yet they continued.

At one point he began to ask her what else turned her on--other than eating pussy and fucking her own brother. And she told him. She whispered and moaned embarrassing secrets, no longer secret--a steady dialogue of hidden fantasies and perversions. John loved it as she stripped away any residual desire to treat her with respect. He told her if he'd known what she was, he would have used her much earlier. Her response was a loud orgasm, her pussy clamping and spasming around his cock.

He eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was shoving Greta away from him; now that he was through he had no more need of her.

John woke up to another erection and a feeling of overwhelming nausea. Even as he vomited he considered how he would use Greta next, but after his stomach was emptied things began to look different.

He looked at the bruised woman next to him, with the wilting flowers in her tangled hair, and saw his sister--the sister he loved, and had never thought he could hurt. The realization of what had happened washed over him, and he began to cry. He was filled with self-loathing.

A tear hit Greta's face, waking her. "Good morning," she purred, reaching for him.

John whispered, conscious of the closeness of Rabea, "No, Greta, no. What are we doing? What did I do to you?"

"You gave me the best fucking of my life. I'm so sore...mmm. And sticky." She laughed throatily. "I want your cock in me again...and again."

John looked over the edge of the loft; the cabin was temporarily empty. He turned back to his sister. "Greta, listen to me! We don't have much time. There is something wrong with both of us. I...I think I need you to throw-up."

She looked confused, trying to figure out what strange new game John wanted to play. "I don't get it. I just want to fuck!"

"Just fucking do it, you cunt!" It tore him apart to talk to her like that, but he knew it was the quickest way.

She obeyed. When she was done she looked confused, but the unthinking desire had left her eyes.

"John...what... I don't understand," she said, positioning her body as modestly as she could.

"Rabea did something to us...something to make us want that. Want each other. Want to be perverted."

"No, I did want you and those things. I mean, maybe they were just fantasies, but they turned me on. I'd masturbate thinking of these things, and I had a boyfriend who liked to spank me...and I'd always wanted to do another woman. When I was a kid I used to have a fantasy about a woman kidnapping me and making me her little whore. I loved fantasizing about fucking you..."

As Greta spoke, a horrified look came across her face and she clapped one hand over her mouth, although she kept talking. John realized that she clearly could not censor her thoughts, and he scrambled to figure out why she couldn't stop revealing secrets. John reached over and pulled the blue blossoms out of her hair, causing her, at last, to fall silent.

She began to cry. Where before she couldn't stop talking, now she seemed too ashamed to speak, and John couldn't comfort her under the circumstances. The last thing she needed was to be held by her naked brother.

"Greta, I know--it's okay. We'll deal with this later. I need you to pull it together for now and I need you thinking. We have to get out of here!"

Greta nodded, but neither moved toward the ladder. John found it odd that Rabea had left the ladder. Perhaps she was done with them, and wanted them to leave.

Then why weren't they leaving?

"Can you go down the ladder?" he asked. "I mean, can you make yourself go down the ladder."

Greta shook her head. There was several seconds' pause and then she looked up at the web made of yarn. She went to reach for it, but seemed to realize she would be unable to protect her modesty. Instead John stood up and grabbed at it, tearing it down and away from them.

He could feel whatever held them there fall away with the falling of the web. "Let's get out of here," he said, moving toward the ladder.

"Don't look, okay?"

There was no answer he could give her that would make it right, so he nodded with his gaze averted. When they were at the bottom of the stairs John looked around the cabin, but he didn't see their clothes. There was a simple wardrobe next to the bed; he quickly grabbed one of Rabea's dresses, tossing it toward his sister.

Finding no men's clothes, he wrapped a shawl around his waist. He would have preferred something a little more masculine, but that was the least of his problems. He looked out the windows, making sure the witch was nowhere in sight.

Finally he looked at Greta. The dress was snug around her breasts, but being covered seemed to help her cope.

"Now what?" she asked. "We leave, right?"

"Well, we don't know where we're going. We should probably gather supplies...look for a map..."

"She can't be far. She'll be back!"

"I'll handle her."

"Do you not get that she's not just your average chick living by herself in a clearing in the woods?"

"There's such a thing...an average one, I mean?" He saw her disapproving look. "I know, but we need to at least find something to help us leave a trail, markers, something so we don't go in circles."

"Knives! We can use them as weapons and to make notches in trees."

"Good." John headed to the area where she'd prepared food the night before. He found one large knife which was seemingly used for everything. Walking to the table, he picked up their flashlight.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a root cellar beneath us--the door is under the rug."

John turned around to see Greta staring at the rug in the center of the floor, tears streaming down her face.

"How do you know that?"

"I just do." She trembled. "Just like I knew something was wrong when I saw the house and Rabea--before I saw them--but I went ahead anyhow. I had to come here and bring you."

"What's down there?"

"I...I think people like us. Other people she trapped." Seeing John's look of alarm she added, "I don't think they're alive. We have to leave now...please believe me."

"I have to look," said John, pressing the knife into Greta's hand. "You know that, right?"

Greta stepped aside, resigned, helping him to move the rug. He wasn't surprised to see the door. His sister turned away, seeming to know what was there, but knowing that he was right--he would never have peace until he saw it for himself.

The door wasn't locked, and as he lifted the door he saw there was a ladder. He hoped Rabea was so secure in her magic that she would be in no hurry to return.

When he got to the bottom of the ladder he saw there were rags which were once clothes, and there were rats, and another web of yarn with several of the real article... and there were bones.

In the corner two skeletons were embracing. He wondered with a shudder if they had fucked to death or died holding on to each other for comfort at the end. He wasn't sure which was worse.

But Greta was right...no survivors.

"John, hurry!" There was urgency in Greta's voice. John imagined that the real hell, as bad as it was down there, had to be in the waiting. He started up the ladder and, once at the top, his sister hugged him in relief. He tried to ignore what he hoped to be the residual effects of whatever was in the food.

As they headed toward the door, Rabea walked in, making John think, Of course. She looked younger--not just refreshed, but as if years had been erased. She appeared to be only slightly older than them.

"Just let us go," Greta cajoled. "We'll leave you alone and just forget this."

"I'd believe you--except I'm not simple minded. You might as well drop the knife. It can't be used against me--if you attempt to stab me you'll either stab yourself or John instead. Clever, huh?" Rabea laughed. "I should have just let you do it, but we had so much fun last night. My friends are much more fun when they are alive and fucking--instead of victuals."

John thought of the stew and hoped like hell she meant her "friends" ended up as rat food. Of all the things he'd hoped for in life, this was by far the oddest.

Greta dropped the knife and slugged Rabea in the face. "Fuck you!"

John stepped forward to help her out, but fell to the ground as his heart began to pound painfully in his chest. Through his pain, he heard the woman's mocking voice.

"Want to see his heart explode? I'd prefer to keep him alive to mate with you more, but I have other ways if need be. Ever hear the expression about being hornier than a two-peckered goat? Would you like to meet my goat, Greta?"

"Stop, just stop hurting him! I'll do whatever you say."

John felt the pain receding.

"Of course you will. Hey, John, stop being a pussy and watch your girlfriend."

John looked at both of them. Rabea smiled and said, "Verzectus Voluptis."

Greta fell to the ground. His heart pounded again--this time naturally--as he wondered what agonies his sister was suffering. She threw back her head and began to moan. He knew, then, that she was not in the midst of pain, but pleasure. He knew the sounds of his sister's release, now, as well as he knew his own.

Rabea commented, walking the couple feet toward John, "You know, someone can actually die from pleasure? She's far from that though. You'd be surprised how long Greta will last and what a big puddle she will make on the floor."

She reached out to stroke his hair and he flinched. "The smell of her arousal will permeate the room soon. You know all about the smell of her desire though, don't you? She's yours now. Why not take her again? Won't it be hotter to know you're choosing it?"

"Stop!" He pulled back from her. "I'm not interested."

Greta was muttering a steady stream of profanity as her body betrayed her again and again.

"Really? I think you are, and I know she is from, oh, everything she said last night. Maybe I'll offer her the goat again if you don't want to play."

Rabea walked toward the helpless girl. "Would you rather have your brother or the goat? Beg for it."

Greta grabbed the woman's hand, looked up at her with parted lips and said, "Verzectus Voluptis," twisting the ring off Rabea's hand and thrusting it onto her own finger.

Rabea fell to the ground, mirroring Greta. "But how...mmmm...no...that shouldn't work!"

The two women climaxed next to one another, clinging to each other in the end while John looked around the cabin for a new weapon. John grabbed a cast iron skillet and brought it crashing down on Rabea's head. She collapsed as his sister rose.

Greta gave a shaky laugh. "Thank God she never charmed the rest of her cookware."

"Look!" John said.

Rabea was aging quickly.

Greta leaned over and grabbed an arm, beginning to drag the woman toward the fire. "C'mon John--a little help here? Or are you set on the final scare when she wakes up and grabs for us?"

When she put it that way, what else could he do? He grabbed the other arm, trying not to think of exactly what they were doing. When the flames hit Rabea she awoke and began to scream. He clamped his hands over his ears and looked to his sister. She seemed surprisingly calm as she gazed at the suffering woman. She mouthed something he couldn't make out, and the witch fell silent.

Greta looked back at John and spoke evenly. "We should leave for now. I'm not exactly fond of the smell of burning flesh--at least I don't think I am."

John followed his sister outside, where she began to spin around like a little girl--joyous. He considered the possibility that Greta was having a breakdown. A well-deserved breakdown. He pondered joining her. Finally, she collapsed on the ground, her laughter echoing in the clearing.

He knelt next to her, worried about if burning a body might cause a literal stink. "Greta, we have to figure out what to do. The smoke might bring people, and who the hell will believe us? I know you've been through a lot, but you need to pull it together."

Greta pointed to the chimney and to the smoke, which seemed to instantly dissipate as it touched the sky. "You know how they say 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas'? ...Vegas has nothing on an enchanted cottage."

"We still have to get out of here." There were many things John didn't understand, but he knew that nothing could be served, no help could be given to Greta, as long as they remained.

"Oh, I don't think I'm meant to leave--at least not yet. I wouldn't like to piss off Baba." The juxtaposition of big, blue innocent eyes and cunning smile was jarring. Greta fell back into the thick grass and stared up at the sky. "What does that cloud look like to you? I think it looks just like that dog our neighbor used to have, Hobo."

John grabbed Greta by the arms and sat her up. "Okay, what in the fuck are you talking about? Who's Baba and what do you mean, you're not leaving?"

Greta moved a few inches away, breaking John's hold. She rubbed her upper arms. "Brother, you do like to leave your mark, don't you? It's okay...like it rough myself, but you know that.

"Baba came to me last night after you were done with me." John flinched. "I dreamt her, but she was as real as you and I. She told me that she was the one who had brought me here – not Rabea. We sat right here and she explained to me that Rabea had displeased her and that she needed my help. She taught me the words and phrases to get me started-- provided I could get the ring. Echoing Rabea's spell was all improve, though. It was really intense and hot the way we clung to each other--a shame you had to end it so soon.

"I woke up this morning, and it all seemed so simple, initially. Then you made me vomit and I had to face what we had done--all those nasty, filthy things you did to me and with me. I knew I had a dark side, but you, John...? Women piss you off, huh?

"I was ashamed. I thought maybe we could get away and forget all this--I even convinced myself the dream was just a dream. Then Rabea caught us, and I knew what I had to do. John, why did you have to delay us by going in the cellar? I have to admit that I prefer you pinning my ankles behind my ears to playing the Boy Scout. Boy Scout John just bumbles along and gets us lost or nearly killed.

"It's okay, Big Brother--I took care of it all. But when I did, my last chance to be free left. As soon as that ring slipped on my finger, I knew this was where I was meant to be.

John was frantic as the words sunk in. "No, Greta, we can get out of here and go back to normal. First we'll get the ring off."

"Over my dead body...literally. What normal life, John? We slept together a ridiculous amount of times. Tell me you can sit across from me at Thanksgiving and not remember what we did? We have been as intimate as two people can be...not just because we screwed, but because we shared our most secret desires...and they were soaked in sin." Greta laughed in delight. "We will never have sex that good again with anyone else, so why try?"

He reached out to grab her arms again... and then stopped, knowing he looked absurd with his arms stuck out in front of him. "I can't leave without you...I won't!"

Greta tore off the thin material of her dress, revealing a body as perfect in sunlight as in firelight. He tried not to stare. "Of course you aren't leaving. At least until we are both ready. Eventually I really must pay Daddy a visit!"

Greta crawled into John's lap, straddling him. He knew he should push her away. "No Greta, we can't."

"Of course we can--we did. And you want to because you can't forget... ever. Still, you are my brother, so I will help you..." And then she began to whisper in a strange language.

He grew harder, knowing they weren't going anywhere for a very long time.