Modern Fairy Tales Ch. 02

"That's clean enough, Hansel," Meg said sharply, reaching into the stall to switch off the water. She handed him a towel impatiently, snatching it away from him after only a few moments. Obviously, Meg was anxious to perform her 'ritual.'

Hansel and Gretel were marched through the kitchen, which was pristine as usual. The twins wondered peripherally as to where the witch's help was; someone had to be getting the kitchen ready for the day, yet there was no one else about. How did the witch service her customers, if she ran the diner alone?

In fact, the only piece of equipment that appeared to be ready was the immense furnace, radiating infernally as the twins passed it by. They could feel the heat against their skin, like standing too close to the sun. Hansel's arm brushed the large handle on the grill-like door, resulting in seared flesh and burned hair. His cry of shock and pain startled Gretel, who screeched as well.

"Be careful what you touch, Hansel," Meg warned sarcastically.

He said nothing, giving the witch a dark look before continuing on toward a large door at the opposite end of the kitchen. "Through there, children," Meg directed.

I hope it's over quick, Hansel thought morosely, and pushed open the door. The bedchamber beyond was nothing like either of the twins would expect from a foul, evil witch. They had imagined thick, dark candles dripping with wax, spiderwebs coating the ceiling, some dirty old bed with soiled sheets that stank like a dog kennel.

Instead, they entered a room that would have impressed Alver Crowley, the richest man in Brimstone. The walls were painted a deep crimson, accentuated with dark wooden runners and baseboards. The furniture was ornate, classically impressive, and kept well, all of it constructed of polished, oiled oak or mahogany. Dominating the room was an immense four-poster bed, draped with silk sheets and a turned-down burgundy blanket, thick pillows piled at the head.

The sound of the door closing behind them startled the twins from their impressed perusal of the room. Meg gave them a sneering look as she stepped past, turning at the foot of the bed to face her imminent lover.

"Try the door, Gretel," she directed, without taking her eyes from the hungry survey she made of Hansel's body.

Gretel did not budge, instead glaring at the witch. "Why?" she asked rhetorically. "It ain't gonna open. I ain't dumb."

Meg chuckled. "So you've learned to accept your fate," Meg said. "That's good. It will serve you well."

Gretel swallowed nervously. What she mean by that?

"I'll make ya a deal," Hansel offered. "I do what ya want, but ya let my sister go."

Meg cackled loudly, the sound reverberating off the walls and assaulting the twins' ears. It faded to a soft, evil laugh as Meg shook her head. "No, you will do what I want because I'll kill your sister and call her meat loaf if you don't."

Hansel ground his teeth angrily. He looked to Gretel apologetically. I don't wanna do it, but I gotta.

She stared back sagely. I know.

Meg snickered again. "Let's not ruin the moment, my dear," she said. "A young man's first time should be special, after all. Gretel, why don't you have a seat?"

Gretel touched her brother's hand reassuringly, before stepping away toward a large, carved chair made of cherry in the corner. She sat down reluctantly, fighting the impulse to run. But she would not leave her brother. She could not. The only thing that gave her hope was that the deed she and Hansel had committed the evening before would somehow lead to their salvation.

So she lowered herself to her seat, watching with a sense of morbid curiosity as Hansel approached the witch. Meg untied the belt of the robe, letting the garment slip from her shoulders to fall with a whisper around her feet.

Hansel stopped for a moment, staring at the physical beauty of the woman before him. Though he knew -- or, at the least, suspected -- that Meg's appearance was the result of some potion or spell, he could not help but admire what his eyes beheld. Strong yet supple, toned yet voluptuous, the nude woman before him was exotically, supernaturally, perfect.

Enormous breasts hung defiantly upon her chest, like balloons resisting the pull of gravity, capped with thick pink nipples which puckered like minute fish mouths. A slender torso below, replete with flat belly containing a hint of softness, drew Hansel's eye to the perfectly sculpted nest of bright, flame-hued curls above the witch's plump sex. Her legs were long, toned, athletic without being overtly muscular, ending in dainty feet with the nails painted to match those upon Meg's slender fingers.

The witch smiled, impressed with herself upon witnessing Hansel's interested and aroused expression. The young man's cock began stiffening, filling out and rising before him. "You want this body," she said softly. "I can tell. Well, it's all yours, lover. Take me any way you've ever wanted to take a woman."

Hansel struggled to restrain his libido, but such an effort was far too Herculean. Part of his mind tried to remind him of Meg's hideousness, of the leathery skin and snarling teeth, the claw-like hands and sulfuric breath. But that part was growing tinier and tinier, as if the rapidly-growing arousal in his mind was crowding out all other thoughts or considerations.

Gretel grimaced, squirming in her chair as she watched her brother step forward, reaching out to touch the witch. His hands went for the ridiculously large breasts, and Meg sighed, pushing out her bosom, encouraging Hansel's clumsy gropes. She did not mind as he squeezed and kneaded the heavy, firm globes, as he caressed and pinched the stiff nipples, finally lowering his head to take them in his mouth.

"Yes, Hansel, that's it," whispered Meg, her pale cheeks beginning to color. She reclined slowly onto the bed, bringing her young lover with her. "Go on, bite them. I like that."

Hansel groaned, thinking of nothing but what his Id, his cock, demanded. Bracing his hands upon the bed, he pulled on one of Meg's stiff nipples with his mouth, sucking hard and grazing it with his teeth. Freeing it, he descended upon the other, this time pushing his teeth into the rubbery, firm protrusion. Lust hissed from Meg's lips as she lightly raked her nails across Hansel's back. She spread her legs widely, giving Gretel a glimpse of the glistening, bright pink folds of her labia before Hansel's body obscured the view.

Cupping Hansel's face with her hands, Meg gently pulled her lover up along her body to meet her mouth in a steamy kiss. The head of Hansel's cock nudged the slippery heat of the witch's sex, making Hansel sigh.

"It's been so long, Hansel," Meg whispered, gazing up into the stupefied young man's eyes. "Almost too long. I can't wait another moment. I need you inside me . . . inside me now . . . ."

Gretel turned her head from the display before her, but the sound of her brother and Meg groaning in unison was as wounding to her soul as the sight of their copulation would have been. The apparent fact that Hansel was enjoying the act stabbed into her heart like a cold, dull knife. It's gotta be some damn spell or somethin', she thought. Yeah. Gotta be . . . .

"Oh! Hansel! Yes . . . ." Meg rocked beneath her lover, feeling the length of him, the thickness within her heated womb. She locked her legs behind his back, keeping the young man's cock deeply seated, squeezing and sucking along his shaft with the muscles inside her. Hansel quivered above, arms shaking, face glazed and mouth slack. The only cognizant thought that entered his mind, tumbling over and over, was: whatever she's doin' ta me, I surely hope she don't stop!

The lovers rutted and grunted, kissing fiercely as Hansel drove within Meg again and again. The witch kicked her legs, gasping loudly upon the explosion of her first orgasm, clawing Hansel's shoulders, arms and chest, drawing lines of blood that trickled down his flesh. But Hansel either did not notice the wounds, or did not care, for his energetic thrusts neither stopped nor faltered.

Meg urged him out of her, but only for as long as it took her to roll over onto her hands and knees, plump round ass thrust out invitingly for Hansel. With no need for instruction, Hansel crawled onto the bed behind her, spearing his cock deep between the swollen, flushed lips of Meg's pussy. The witch cried out in ecstasy; Hansel growled like an animal, pounding deeply, roughly, relishing the spasms of the woman before him.

"Don't hold it, Hansel!" cried the witch, hair streaked across her sweaty face. "Don't hold it back! Give it to me!"

Hansel could only respond with the basest of grunts and moans, until, with a body-shuddering lunge, he shoved his cock deep inside the witch, flooding her womb with every drop of volcanic seed his body could produce.

Alone in her chair, Gretel hung her head and cried softly.

***

"Up! Get up, Hansel! You're soiling my bed!"

Hansel blinked his eyes open, feeling that he was emerging from a week's worth of sleep. His surroundings came into focus slowly, painfully. A few moments passed before he recognized the lavish trappings of Meg's bedroom, rather than the dank accommodations of his cell.

"Wh-what?" he muttered. His fogged query was answered by a sharp slap across the face, which sent him sprawling across the bed and served to awaken him fully.

"I said, up!" screeched Meg angrily, clad once more in her silk robe. "You've served your purpose! Back to the cages for the both of you!"

Hansel leapt to his feet on the other side of the bed from the witch, glowering upon her with clear eyes and head. "What'd'ya do t' me?" he cried.

Meg planted her hands on her hips and laughed. "Was it good for you, too?" she quipped. "I admit, you weren't bad. Better than my last virgin. It's almost too bad there won't be a repeat performance."

Hansel glanced quickly to his sister, who stood beside the door, arms wrapped around herself. It took but a single look to determine that she was fine, all things considered. And, more importantly, that she understood that Hansel had not been himself throughout the coupling with the witch; she had enchanted him in some way, obviously.

"So what's it all'a 'bout?" Hansel asked, addressing Meg once more. "What's so God damned important 'bout me bein' a virgin?"

Meg ignored his question as she directed Hansel and Gretel through the door from her bedroom. But, as they passed through the kitchen, the witch spoke just as they reached the Purgatorial furnace.

"I suppose it would not hurt to tell you, since there is nothing you can do about it now."

The twins turned to face the witch, wondering and expectant expressions glowing upon their faces.

"Every thirty-three years, I must find a male virgin," Meg explained smugly. "I have but one year in which to find and copulate with what has proven to be a progressively rare creature. That is the only way in which I can continue to live."

She stepped closer to Hansel, giving him an intent look. "My magic has insured that you have given me a child, my dear man," she said. "A girl. She will mature rapidly, growing to adulthood within a year. And when that happens, I will transfer my soul to her body and continue on, as I have been, for centuries."

"What happens ta us?" asked Hansel.

The witch chuckled. "Food," she said simply. "In order for my daughter to gain the full benefits of the spell, she must consume her own father." Her malevolent eyes drifted briefly to Gretel. "That she will be able to add her aunt to the feast will be . . . delicious, in many ways."

Gretel gasped fearfully, slapping her hands over her mouth. Strangely, however, Hansel remained calm. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly with the beginnings of a smile.

Meg frowned, perturbed. "What are you smiling about?"

"I was just wonderin'," he said. "Seems t' be all-important that ya have'ta make it with a virgin for it all t' work."

Meg's eyes narrowed. "Of course," she said. "The ritual depends upon—" She stopped in mid-sentence, interrupted by a sharp, intense stabbing pain in her abdomen. The witch doubled over, clutching her stomach. Grunts and whimpers of pain fell from her lips.

"What . . . what's hap—" she began, then winced harshly, features contorted in agony. The beauty afforded by her magic wavered, revealing glimpses of her twisted, monstrous reality. "There . . . there's something . . . wrong!"

Hansel and Gretel both backed off, watching with fear and wonder as Meg convulsed, stumbling about, choking, crying, gasping and grunting. She coughed roughly, blood flying from her mouth. The illusion of beauty vanished completely, revealing the crone in all her ogre-like atrocity.

Gretel fell back against the cool stove beside the furnace, groping around frantically for some kind of weapon. But the only thing within reach was a large, floral-print oven mitt. Similarly, Hansel fumbled upon the cool metal surface of the table behind him, taking up the only item he could use: a large rolling pin.

"What . . . did you . . . do!" howled Meg, bonfire eyes burning into first Hansel, then Gretel as the hag whirled about, convulsing in barely-controlled pain.

But neither of the twins responded, at least not to the witch. Instead, their eyes flashed quickly to one another's, exchanging a voiceless plan. And in that moment, understanding the rapport between her two captives, Meg instantly deduced the truth. Frantically, she looked back and forth between the twins, mind clouded by shock.

"You couldn't!" the witch screamed. "You wouldn't!"

Hansel hefted the large rolling pin in his hands. "We did," he said simply, then nodded toward his sister.

Quickly, having donned the oven mitt, Gretel reached for the handle upon the furnace-like oven, pulling with all her might. The load groaning of the door compelled the witch to spin about, staring with fear upon the blazing fire that was now fully revealed. "No!" she cried, wavering upon pain-inflamed legs.

"It's ya' own fault," hissed Hansel, lining up the rolling pin between the witch's legs and thrusting home. The contoured handle plunged through the silk of Meg's robe and deep inside her nether passage, eliciting a cry of surprise and pain from the witch.

"Ya wanted t' get fucked," growled Hansel, then shoved with all his might. "Well, now ya fucked!"

An ear-splitting howl of terror and pain shattered the air as Meg was hurled into the furnace, tumbling face-first into the hellish flames within. Her screams of agony were only slightly muted once Gretel shoved the door closed on the furnace with a thunderous ring of metal upon metal. Sweating and panting from her exertions, Gretel joined her brother, watching the kicking of limbs through the grill, the smell of burning flesh. The screams and flailing faded quickly enough.

"Well . . ." panted Gretel. "'Guess it worked."

Hansel turned to his sister and smiled. "Guess it did, huh?"

Gretel looked around. "So, what we gonna do now? Go home? Back t' Mother? Maybe . . . I mean, maybe we can get dad to come away with us somewheres—"

Hansel shook his head. "Nah. That kind'a thing only happens in fairy tales."

His sister nodded somberly. "Yeah. Guess you're right."

"Well, 'spose we could . . ." he trailed off, looking about the kitchen.

Gretel followed her brother's eyes, understanding what he meant. "But we don't know nothin' 'bout runnin' no diner," she pointed out. "'Sides, won't people wonder what happened'ta Meg?"

Hansel thought a moment, staring through the grill of the oven at the burning husk of the witch's corpse. "So we say we're under new management," he suggested. "'Aunt Meg' passed th' place down'ta us."

Gretel snorted mirthfully. "'Aunt Meg?'"

Hansel grinned. "Sure. Why not?"

Epilogue

The gaudily-painted Cadillac rumbled to a stop in a space before the diner. What had once read "Haggie's Diner" had been artfully changed to read "the H & G Diner," with a new legend painted beneath: "Under New Management." The woman behind the wheel was attractively coifed, clad in the first new dress she had owned in years.

Seems like a nice 'nuff place t' start my search for my new husband, she thought wryly. Poor Lewis. Oh, well, he didn't suffer. In fact, I'm sure he's smilin' right now, knowin' that his life insurance has made life much more interestin' and comfortable for his bereaved widow . . . .

She took a table along the wall in the half-full diner, and a pretty young blonde girl appeared to take her order. The woman didn't like the blonde girl at all; she was pretty and busty and, more importantly, young. Three advantages the woman herself lacked, of which she was reminded again and again as the many single men in the diner paid attention to the flirtatious girl and none at all to the matron sitting by herself. By the time she was finished with her meal, she had decided she was not going to tip the bubbly, buxom teen.

"Getting' near ta closin' time, fellas," the blonde announced as she made the rounds of the diner, dropping off checks and picking up dirty plates.

The few men who lingered, who had been leering and occasionally groping the blonde, all groaned in unison. "Ya mean I gotta go home t' th' wife, after getting' my eyes full'a you?" one man lamented.

Another winked at the tittering teen. "Well, hey, why don't we all grab some beers, Billie?"

"Can't tonight," Billie said with an apologetic smile. "Got my monthly date with Sheriff Fred, ya know."

The man sighed and groaned again, nodding in understanding. "Well, there's always tomorrow," one said.

The matron in the corner huffed in disgust. Little whore, she thought acidly. Hmm. A tryst with th' sheriff, huh? Willin' ta bet that sheriff's married, and his wife sure wouldn't like t' know that hubby's steppin' out with some busty bimbo from a hack diner . . . .

The woman dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, then rummaged through her new purse for lipstick. She was vaguely aware of someone standing at the end of her table, so she was not startled when the young man spoke.

"How was your meal tonight, ma'am?"

"Fine," she said through clenched teeth, not looking up. "The service could'a been better."

"Oh? That ain't like Billie. She's been a real Godsend these past few months, since me an' my sister, here, took over th' place."

The woman frowned as she was applying lipstick. Somethin' 'bout that voice . . . . She snapped closed her compact, and with her heartbeat steadily accelerating, lifted her eyes.

"Hansel," she breathed in surprise, looking upon her son, clad in a stained chef's apron. Her eyes drifted past him to his sister. "Gretel. Wh-what--?"

"Good t' see ya again, too, Mother," Gretel said with a smile. "Did ya enjoy th' pie?"

Mother blinked, lips working as she tried to speak. "Th' . . . th—"

"Th' pie," Hansel said emphatically. "We made it special, just for ya." The smile he wore was identical to his sisters: conspiratorially sinister.

The twins' mother swallowed nervously, looking at the crust from the slice of pecan pie which had rounded out her meal. She had thought, when the bubbly waitress brought it over with the comment that it was on the house, that the girl had merely been trying to work up her non-existent tip. But now she knew the truth.

"See, th' layd that used'ta own this place," continued Hansel. "She left behind lots'a interestin' books. Gretel and me, we been doin' a lot'a readin'."

Mother took a deep breath, forcing out a smile. "Well, see, I knew ya two was gonna be just fine, now didn't I?" she said. "I just knew it."

Hansel's smile was stone. "I'm sure ya did," he responded. "Just so ya know, then, Gretel and me's doin' pretty well. Got us a good business here. Ya be sure t' come back 'n see us again some time."