Rapunzel Act 1

"What is your name, stranger? What is it you do?"

Rowan gave her his name and his trade. She did not seem convinced. Cabinetmakers make good coin, said she. Why are you so poor? He admitted that he would never be a success at his trade because he didn't produce enough work. Whereas other people would go deep into the Great Wood to hew down the largest, most beautiful trees for their craft, he would only work with timber that had died naturally. Obviously, that meant not very much wood came to his workshop, and he produced very little furniture as a result. He could not bear to touch a murdered tree. He could hear its agony in his mind, sometimes even feel the forest's pain.

"The Old Blood," she said, excitement lacing her voice. "You are of the Old Blood, cabinetmaker. Your wife is not the important one. She has merely absorbed some of your essence over time." She let her small, hard hands roam over his body. He trembled under her rough touch. "Stand fast, man," she ordered. As much as he wanted to, he could not stop his limbs from quaking.

She may have possessed a small frame, but the Dame also had a magically enhanced strength equal to three men. She ripped the clothing off of him, leaving him standing naked before her. She grabbed the base of his cock and slowly pumped him to life.

"I shall show you something, Rowan. Something you shall not soon forget." She took from about her neck a tiny crystal vial and opened it. She poured its contents upon his erect phallus. The fires of hell flared up in his groin. Rowan bawled like one of the damned, like a man being put to the question in a Lord's dungeon. His cock felt so hot he thought it would ignite. When he dared to look down upon himself he renewed his screams.

His penis had grown, its girth the same as his wrist and its length the same span as from his elbow to the tip of his middle finger. Such a thing was impossible, he knew. But impossible or not, the titanic spar sat heavily in Dame Gothel's hands, throbbing with power.

"You see, cabinetmaker? The Old Blood flows within your veins. This aspect of yourself has been released by the touch of the World's Tears upon you. That water comes from my well that that reaches into the very heart of the earth itself."

"How is such a thing possible?" Rowan asked. "Who could use such a thing?"

"Do you think a woman could not?" she replied, voice larded with amusement and scorn. "In these modern times people think that the purpose of life is to amass things, cabinetmaker. But you know the truth. The only purpose of life is to create more life. And to that end, you need the proper equipment." The aged Dame knelt in front of the stunned cabinetmaker, reversing her grip on his rod as if it were a spear she would thrust into her own breast. "Oh yea, one needs a munificent tool indeed if he is to populate an entire world with his progeny. That was the charge given to the Earth Lords aeons ago." With that, the aged Enchantress stretched her mouth wide then descended upon his mighty branch. No more than the head of his spear would go inside. Dame Gothel had a skillful mouth, one that quickly brought him to completion.

Or at least it would have, if Rowan had maintained control over himself. A strange thing happened to him as he stood there being serviced by Dame Gothel. Rowan became intoxicated by his own power. The Great Lady was a Enchantress, true, a woman who could crush stone, summon the lightning, and quell storms upon the seas. Her power could sink ships and level mighty fortresses. And this selfsame woman now knelt before him and suckled upon his cock like an ordinary whore from the foulest slum. This was heady stuff, indeed! Rowan felt his control over his actions slipping, just like it used to do when he had bedded his wife for the first few years of their union. Fear bled away from him, replaced by hot lust and the desire to spread his seed indiscriminately like the dandelion. Unlike the pernicious plant, his seed was limited in supply. He must place it carefully, only where it would do the most good. That meant he must inject it deep within Dame Gothel.

Rowan picked up the Enchantress and carried her over to a low boulder. He draped her across it upon her back, holding the fleshy parts of her arms pinioned upon the rocky surface. Her head pointed toward the ground, her long grey locks laying upon the cool grass, "Madness, complete madness," Rowan thought to himself. "She will slay me for sure!" His mind wished to release the woman and to flee, but his body was no longer controlled by his will. He released her arms and crawled over her, grasping both of her spindly legs in his hands and drawing them apart. Her goddess’ mound looked smooth, the only unwrinkled part of her body. Wispy grey hairs dusted the pubic area, the fine strands as transparent as the gossamer silk shift that sheathed her body. The eiderdown-soft hair made a silken trail all the way to her navel. Rowan followed it right to her secret crevice, pulling the lips of the recessed clam apart so he could access her core.

A swath of pearlescent pink skin greeted him, crossing his vision like a lightning bolt streaking across a storm-tossed sky. What trickery was this? His cock throbbed, filled with latent, frustrated potency.

"I have been sealed, cabinetmaker. My insides withered by magic, then sewn shut by my dam. Children often take the best attributes of their parents. It was decided that I would keep that which was my own gift from my parents. Whatever the cost." Dame Gothel’s voice sounded strident but he could feel the frustration that coursed through her veins, her loss and her sorrow. Just like with the trees he could feel that which went unspoken. The purpose of life was to create more life, she had said. She was denied the opportunity to do so, thwarting her in fulfilling her role as a woman.

Rowan raised his head and roared at the eternal firmament that twinkled above him. The Celestial Lords peered down upon him, curious as to what transpired below. It had been an Age since a Lord of the Earth had wandered the Terran Realm, even if it seemed to be a rather insignificant one.

With a sudden motion, Rowan swooped down upon the crone’s sex and latched his lips around her concealed pleasure nubbin, teasing the recalcitrant bud up out of its hood. It grew large and firm beneath his lips and swirling tongue, the sweet berry swelling up as if it intended to fill his entire mouth. The Enchantress gasped, opening her mouth wide so she could suck in more air.

It was at that moment, when Dame Gothel’s mouth stretched wide open, that Rowan fully claimed his prize.

He angled his hips forward and shoved his cock deep into her awaiting mouth. He roughly took the Enchantress's face, listening in delight as her throat noisily stretched to take all him inside, expanding like a bullfrog's gorget. He rammed himself into her, sure that he reached all the way into her entrails. He used her roughly, enjoying the way his now fist sized bollocks slapped her on the nose as he used her like a butter churn. The powerful strokes smacked her skull against the cool stone, causing her to grunt around his girth. He only had one goal, and that was to deposit his seed within her.

With a groan, Rowan felt his penis empty, depositing his mighty seed deep within the stomach of the prone Lady. He thrust forward one last time, burying his staff as deep as it would go, luxuriating in the feel of the sorceress's esophagus as it milked him of every last drop of his potency. Still he was not satisfied. He leaned back and grasped her head by her hair, using the long grey tendrils as handles so he could continue to pump into her mouth. Spittle oozed out of her, the clear sap running out of her like that of a tapped maple tree at the spring thaw. Her face grew shiny with it, glazed by the mixture of saliva and male seed. He continued to ply his tool into her until he felt it go dead within her. He had finally exhausted himself.

His manhood shrunk, returning to its normal appearance. His flaccid cock slipped out easily from between the bruised lips of the captured sorceress. Rowan took two steps back, his sticky cock slapping against his inner thigh. The old Dame stroked her stomach, her wizened hands gliding over her rounded belly. Her eyes remained closed.

Gods, she would destroy him for sure! The Enchantress rolled off of the stone, landing heavily upon the grass below. She clutched at the rock, using it to lever herself to her feet. The woman looked as shaky as the cabinetmaker felt. She stood absolutely still, seemingly not even breathing. Her long grey hair obscured her visage and expression from his sight. When next Rowan beheld her face, it was to see her smiling widely, his ejaculate dripping out of a corner of her mouth. Surely it was due to the poor illumination, but her face didn't look as deeply lined as it had previously. And her hair; did flecks of reddish gold now nestle among the rivers of ashen grey?

"The Old Blood sings in your veins, beautiful man," she said with a smile, licking the last bit of his spend from the corner of her mouth with a pink slip of tongue. "Those who possess it can perform miracles." She cupped both of her breasts and pinched the nipples through her gauzy garment. They seemed more full, more round than they had upon his entry into the garden. She looked into his face and smiled even wider than before.

"You think that I did not shed as many years as your wife did," she said with a smirk. "In truth, I lost many more years than did your wife. It is just that my lifespan is not measured in mere seasons. I have much more time to shed before I regain my nubility."

"What are you telling me, Great Lady?" Inside he cringed. Surely she was not proposing marriage!

"Every seventh day you shall come at mid-night to collect fresh rampion for your wife. Every time you do, you shall provide me with that which I require."

Rowan wanted to protest, to say that it was a sin to commit adultery, to utter anything that would make him never have to do this awful thing again, but knew it all to be a pack of lies. He'd never felt so powerful in his entire life as when he had snatched up the Enchantress and made her his whore. She had the power to incinerate him, to send his soul screaming into oblivion, or to turn him to stone but still had he picked her up like the smallest kitten and used her for his own pleasure. He had never even done such a thing with his own wife! Is this how kings felt when they played with their concubines and courtesans? Is this the feeling that those with power over women possessed?

He loved that feeling almost as much as he did his dear wife Hazel. He wished to keep both.

"What say you, Earth Lord? Will you return in seven days to fetch the herb for your wife?"

Earth Lord. Yes. The title pleased him. "I will come," he replied solemnly.

"Yes. Yes you will." Dame Gothel played with his cock, mashing his stones lightly, then suddenly applying more pressure than was comfortable. Despite the mild discomfort, Rowan felt the sap run through his branch once more. "Perhaps there's a little more fluid left for me to entice out," she said with a grin. She knelt gracefully before Rowan and slipped his stiffening spar between her expert lips. It did not take long for it to become a mighty staff. Although his member remained just a normal tool, he plied it with the same amount of finesse as before. It took some time, but eventually both the Enchantress and Rowan received that which they desired from the illicit union. With this second deposit a second bargain had been struck.

"Now go, my sweet slave, go back to your wife and take her rampion with you." Rowan looked about for his clothes, but only saw bits of torn cloth strewn about like bloody bits of flesh and scraps of sinew left behind by feeding wolves in the hills. He hadn't even realized that the aged Dame had actually torn them up after snatching them off of his body. "Leave now, woodworker. Go back to your wife accoutered the same way you came out of your mother's womb."

Reddening in shame yet not willing to disobey the witch's command, Rowan gathered up as much of the rampion as he could carry then skulked out of the garden, running all the way back to his humble abode. Like Adam, he had full knowledge of his sins and sought to hide his nakedness with the leaves of plants.

His wife awaited his return. If she noticed the naked state of her husband she remained silent. She only had eyes for the rampion he held in his arms. She didn't even deign to speak to him as she reached over to pluck a single leaf from a stalk and to pop it into her mouth. Rowan told his wife everything that had transpired, only keeping his feelings about the encounter secret. She didn't react as he had expected her to. Instead of being upset, she seemed rather excited by the events. To thank him for his endeavours Hazel allowed him to do something to her that she had never allowed in over five decades of marriage. She draped herself over the kitchen table and spread her buttocks apart, telling him that her darker passage of amatory bliss was his to use and enjoy. The thought of it was enough to get Rowan hard in a heartbeat. He softened some cooking fat in the flames of a tallow candle, then smeared it over his throbbing cock and between the cheeks of her pale, smooth ass. So prepared, he felt ready to plunge into her. Creeping slowly at first, Rowan squirmed his way deep into her darker crevice. Once she adjusted to his girth, he felt free to use her arse as he had her regular tunnel in the past, with long, firm strokes.

He wanted to hear her screams, and he relished every piercing cry he wrought out of her. For you see, it was not Hazel he was taking there in the small kitchen. In his mind it was the sorceress bent over this table, wailing at him to push his thick dowel into her. Every fierce thrust into his wife became one into the woman who had humiliated him in the garden. In his fantasy the crone became the captive, and he the Lord who bent her to his will. He gained a perverse satisfaction in firing his hot spunk deep into the bowels of his loving wife. The Dame of the Keep seemed to want his semen more than anything else in the world. It felt good to squander even this little bit, burying it where the hag would never find it.

Hazel quite mistook the reason for the contented sounds that issued forth from Rowan as he rested against her back on the tabletop. "Did I please you, my husband?" she said, wiggling her ass gently against him.

"More than you could ever imagine," Rowan replied, kissing her shoulder. "I feel like a new man." And indeed, he was a new man. Eldritch power indued his limbs and his phallus with the power of the earth. For the fourth time this night his prick obtained hardness, allowing him to take his wife again. He pounded into her proper hole until sunup, when the sun's light washed away the last traces of Night's blanket. Only then did he cease his labours, injecting life into his wife's depths one last time before succumbing to Lethe's gift. Both fell asleep upon the packed earth of the kitchen, the first morning in over half a century that the cabinetmaker had not awoken with the dawn.

And so it went, just as the Enchantress had decreed. Once a week Rowan entered the Garden of the Enchantress and paid his due. As time progressed, so did his confidence with the Enchantress. No act was too vile, no position so aberrant that could not be performed. But the fact remained that this woman lacked the one thing that made a female a woman in truth. This reality kept Rowan unsatisfied. The Dame would never totally be his woman because she lacked the vital equipment that all women possessed. This benefitted Hazel to no end, who received all of his pent up frustrations when he returned to her.

Three months to the day after Hazel had first tasted the rampion she announced to her man that she was carrying his child. The Dame decreed that Rowan should cease all marital relations with Hazel, lest the child be harmed by his ardour. Hazel was discomfited by this but was reluctant to bring about the wrath of an enraged sorceress. She obeyed Dame Gothel’s command, although with a heavy heart. Rowan barely suffered during the loss of use of his wife as the Enchantress took care of all his needs in the interim.

This arrangement was no hardship on the Earth Lord’s part, for she now resembled a curvaceous woman in her fourth decade of life, with a fiery mane that reached all the way to her ankles. The shade of her hair well matched her disposition. But Rowan possessed the instrument that could silence her and keep her meek, compliant and contented. He went weekly into her Garden to sow his seed, though it never found root in the Enchantress' barren soil no matter how many times he tilled it. Even though it was a fruitless task he enjoyed making the Dame, old no longer, howl with passion and pleasure. He took her in any way he wished, and she accepted his advances without complaint. Once he felt her to be well and truly mastered he decided to increase his visitations. When the sun set Rowan rose, each and every night.

The Enchantress remained content to let him think her cowed for the nonce.

Nine months passed quickly for Rowan and his harlot. Much slower for the carrying Hazel, who was left alone much of the time. Rowan always seemed tired, totally devoid of all energy until the sun set. As soon as Night cradled the earth to her bosom, rocking all God-fearing creatures to sleep he awakened, hale and ready. If not for the rampion he supplied her with daily she would have complained bitterly.

The time finally came for Hazel to bear her child. Dame Gothel was in attendance, wearing only her skin and a few golden trinkets around her neck. In deference to the child she had removed her rings and bangles from her fingers and wrists. Such objects had no place on the hands of the midwife! The delivery was simplicity itself. Hazel was healthy and strong, the rampion keeping her in fine shape. No, it was not the actual birthing that caused Hazel distress, but the child itself.

The girl-child had a hazelnut's colouration and Nubian-black hair. The only concession it made to her parents’ appearance were the intense blue eyes she possessed that skewered anything they focused upon. And they did focus; the babe's head moved around the domicile, following Rowan's movements carefully.

It had no mind for its mother who lay prostrate on the bed.

"Why does the child not cry?" Hazel asked the Enchantress. The girl remained silent, refusing to wail. "Is she ill? Give her here." Hazel reached her hands up to hold her child. Dame Gothel kept her away. "You shall never touch her again," the sorceress said. "She is mine. I name her after the enchanted herb that made her birth possible. Rapunzel shall be her name."

With those words, Hazel knew remorse. But no amount of pleading would sway the Enchantress. A bargain had been struck, and the witch's end of the bargain had been kept. She would claim her child as payment. Hazel wept bitterly.

"I have something else to tell you," the Enchantress said with a wide grin. "Never again will either one of you feel the joy of the herb again. Its efficacy has been passed on to Rapunzel. Here, see for yourself." The sorceress placed a rampion leaf on Hazel's tongue and bade her to chew upon it. It tasted like dead grass in her mouth. The sorceress then turned to Rowan.

"But you, beautiful man are a different case. You are of the Old Blood. You need no herb for your power. Your ability requires something else." She touched his chest lightly, causing his clothes to vanish in a puff of smoke. He had stood naked in front of her so often he felt no shame at this. Hazel said nothing, her mind on other matters.