by Niamh Murphy
“That little bird.”
Gretel could see something fluttering between the branches.
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s a swallow. The first sign that spring is coming.” Maeve laughed,
it was a soft, happy laugh and, being so close, Gretel could feel her gentle
movements. They looked at each other. “A new beginning.”
The intensity of her look, of Maeve’s soft, deep brown eyes, was
intoxicating, Gretel couldn’t pull away, didn’t want to. She could feel
Maeve’s warmth, their whole bodies pressed against one another. She
wanted to touch her, to hold her. She could only imagine, only hope, that
Maeve wanted the same, felt the same, that she craved the same.
Tentatively, Gretel slid her hand through the layers of furs to find her
waist, and placed her hand upon it. Maeve allowed her to move closer, their
breathing hot and steady, their eyes searching one another’s faces, searching
for confirmation that this was what the other wanted. That this was what
they had each been longing for from the moment they had met and every
moment in between. Until Gretel could no longer contain the desire and she
moved forward, pressing her lips gently against Maeve’s, who accepted her
with soft, tender caresses.
She could taste Maeve’s lips and the soft, sweet flesh of her tongue as
it brushed gently against her, and she felt the firm flesh of Maeve’s lip as
she was unable to resist the urge to gently bite. Maeve’s gentle caresses had
awakened the hunger within her.
Gretel fell back against the trunk of a tree as Maeve pushed against
her. The heat of their bodies rendered the furs useless and heavy, and they
cast them off quickly, feeling the icy air against the heat of their bodies.
They held each other as they kissed, unable to comprehend anything but the
flesh of one another, their hands searching each other for more, always
more.
Maeve placed her hand behind Gretel’s knee, pulling her leg to hook it
against her hip as she slid her hand beneath Gretel’s skirts. Gretel gasped as
she felt Maeve’s hand against her bare flesh for the first time. Nerves and
excitement twisted around inside her. Yet she felt safe in Maeve’s hands,
not just safe but right. It felt right that the first hand on her naked thigh
should be Maeve’s. She wanted to give herself completely to this woman.
But Maeve had stopped. Pulling back from their kiss, she looked at
Gretel intently.
“Is this alright?” she whispered.
But Gretel had never felt more right, her whole body felt right. She
stroked Maeve’s cheek: her skin was icy, but her cheeks glowed pink and
hot. Gretel pulled her close, kissing her, gently biting her lip, tasting her
sweetness: never had she imagined wanting someone so much.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
Gretel wrapped her leg around Maeve, feeling the woman’s thigh push
between her legs. She moaned at the pleasure it gave her. The pleasure of
feeling this woman’s body pressed against her own, so completely, so fully.
Gretel writhed gently against her, wanting nothing but the pleasure of her
touch, wanting to get nearer, her arms wrapped around Maeve holding onto
her, pulling her closer. But Maeve resisted, pulling back to give herself
room to slide her hand across Gretel’s leg, toward her inner thigh.
Gretel didn’t resist as she felt Maeve’s strong, gentle hand brushing
softly against her. She leaned back against the tree, placing both feet on the
ground, her breathing ragged, nervous as she guessed at what Maeve would
do to her, yielding completely to her touch. They looked at each other,
holding each other’s gaze. Maeve leaned in and gently kissed Gretel on the
lips, softly, but with a hunger that could hardly be contained.
Her hand slid ever further upwards, brushing against the soft, downy
hair between Gretel’s legs. Nervously, Gretel wondered if she should be
doing something, if she should be touching her back, but she was too
nervous to move. Maeve’s hand was so close to her, so intimately touching
her, it paralysed her.
As Maeve’s hand reached the soft, wet flesh, Gretel’s head rolled back
against the tree. She couldn’t contain the gasp that left her lips as she felt
Maeve’s fingers delicately slide inside her. Slowly, determinedly, Maeve
manipulated her flesh with her fingers, expertly teasing her body with a
rhythm that began to drive Gretel wild. The delicate moans of pleasure
became deeper, more guttural, as Maeve continued to tease her flesh, with
movements that both satisfied her craving and yet caused it to grow.
Gretel struggled to keep silent, struggled to keep her cries contained;
with one hand she held the tree and with the other she held Maeve against
her. Her knuckles whitened as her grip became stronger, the desire and the
pleasure giving her a new strength as Maeve continued to writhe her fingers
against Gretel’s flesh.
She pushed her hips forward, hoping somehow to get closer to Maeve,
to somehow contain her, consume her with desire.
As her pleasure grew the world around her diminished, her eyes
closed, her awareness of the world, of the woods around them, was gone
and all she could feel, all she knew, was the way Maeve was touching her,
stroking her, manipulating her.
Heat and intensity emanated from deep inside and she no longer felt in
control of herself as she began to cry out, every breath a cry for more. Her
muscles tensed, her thighs lustfully thrusting, her eyes rolled back, unable,
unwilling, to focus on the world, her body was everything, Maeve was
everything.
As the lust filled her, she could no longer move, her muscles tight with
longing as Maeve took care of her, her delicate, languid moves becoming
frantic and hurried as Gretel neared ever closer, until her cries echoed
around the woods and the pleasure exploded within her, reaching every inch
of her body.
When the last cry had ripped through her, she was left numb, sated,
emptied. She struggled to get her breath back, her muscles were weak. She
looked up at Maeve, at this woman who had such intimate knowledge of
her, and she realised that she never wanted anyone else to touch her the way
Maeve had touched her. What they had was theirs and theirs alone.
Maeve leaned down and kissed her, softly, fully, and Gretel felt utterly
satisfied. She knew that there was nothing more she wanted for herself,
save the chance to witness Maeve feel the same.
Gretel wanted to touch Maeve, to see her body writhe and become taut
until nothing else mattered. Her breath heavy and her mind fixed, she kissed
Maeve, hard, bringing her face closer, biting her lip gently, and knowing the
desire that was swelling within Maeve’s hips.
She turned, pushing Maeve against the tree. She looked at her, at the
deep darkness within her eyes, the softness of the skin and her lips. She
could taste the lust within her and she longed to feel her.
As they kissed she felt Maeve’s hips push against her own. Gretel
knew what was coming and the knowledge of it, the desire for i
t, made her
impatient. Timidly she reached a hand under Maeve’s skirts, running her
fingers up her inner thigh, where the flesh was softest.
Gretel had so craved to touch even just her hand the night before, and
now Maeve was naked beneath her fingers, within her grasp, uncertainly,
tentatively, she moved further, watching Maeve’s reaction.
Gretel forced herself not to rush. Knowing the joy that Maeve’s
patience had brought her, she now lavished that same patience upon Maeve.
First caressing her, listening to her breathing as it became quick and
unsteady at her touch, watching the longing grow in her eyes, seeing her
gently bite her bottom lip, feeling her hands grabbing her flesh and then
hearing the soft moan that escaped from Maeve’s lips as Gretel finally slid
her fingers delicately into her, nervously touching her.
It was pure bliss to watch, to see the strong, powerful, intelligent
woman begin to lose control at her touch. As her moans became louder,
more unrestrained, Gretel forgot all her nerves and concerns: all worries fell
from her mind and her slow movements became hurried as Maeve’s body
demanded more, her moans became deeper, her hips thrusting forward to
meet Gretel’s stroke.
Suddenly Maeve grasped Gretel tightly, her nails dug into her flesh,
she pulled her close, her arms strong, her desire stronger, and Gretel
responded, pushing her ever closer until her cries were wild. She could no
longer look at Gretel, her head thrust back, her body was taut as Gretel
witnessed the same ecstasy ricochet through Maeve that she had felt
moments before and then the last cry left her.
Her body relaxed. Her breathing deep and ragged, she looked back at
Gretel and they realised that something had forever changed between them.
“That was...” she said, between deep breaths, “wonderful...” She
laughed softly and pulled Gretel close to her.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Gretel whispered, unsure
how Maeve would respond to her inexperience.
“Neither have I,” she admitted.
“But I thought—” Gretel started, remembering the woman Maeve had
loved.
“She loved me back,” Maeve explained, “but it never went further than
broken promises.”
Gretel held her tighter. She would never break a promise.
“I won’t leave you,” she said.
“What about Hans?” Maeve asked.
“It will be easier for him to find work on his own and the village isn’t
far.” As she said the words, she knew they were true, she felt everything
was falling into place.
“As long as you’re sure...”
“I’ve never been more sure.” She looked up at Maeve and felt a
happiness seep through her as she realised her decision was made, and she
knew it was the right one.
They kissed once again before finally succumbing to the cold and
replacing their furs. They collected the fallen basket and started the journey
back to the cottage, which felt a world away to the one they had left.
The house was empty when they arrived and Gretel was glad for the
extra time alone with Maeve. They set about cleaning up and preparing the
food, but Gretel couldn’t focus on preparing vegetables. She kept glancing
at Maeve, watching her move, watching her brush a rogue lock of hair from
her face, wondering what fortune it was that had led her into this woman’s
path that day in the woods. Suddenly Maeve looked up, catching Gretel’s
gaze.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You’re beautiful,” Gretel said, hoping she wouldn’t be thought
foolish. But Maeve smiled and took her into an embrace.
“And you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon!”
she whispered, and they kissed, a gentle kiss, a kiss that reminded them
they belonged together.
The door opened and they pulled apart quickly, but Hans had seen. He
stood, looking from one to the other, his arms laden with firewood.
Gretel desperately tried to think of something to say, to explain: she
tried to think of the words that would make him understand. She didn’t
know what he would do and she was afraid he would be angry, that he
would drag her from the house and stop her ever seeing Maeve again.
“I’ve refilled the stores,” he said, moving to dry the wood next to the
fire. He said nothing more as he arranged the logs and Gretel returned to
preparing the food, hoping she would get a chance to speak to him alone:
perhaps he would understand, perhaps he would accept her decision to stay.
The more she thought about it, the happier she became. Perhaps it was
a good thing he had seen them together; now she wouldn’t have to try to
find the words. He knew how she felt about Maeve and, although it had
been a shock, he had been accepting, he loved her and he would come to
love Maeve as well.
By the time the dinner was ready, the three of them were chatting
happily. Hans even offered to serve the food, and Gretel sat by the fire as
she enjoyed her stew, watching the flames and feeling the exhaustion of the
day finally overwhelm her.
The Way Back
She felt different.
Cold, uncomfortable and so tired. She could hear the fire crackling and
forced her eyes open, but what she saw didn’t make sense. She struggled to
remember where she was, what was real, what was a dream.
She remembered eating ... she remembered a fire... she remembered
Maeve.
Gretel forced herself out of sleep, struggling to open her eyes and sit
up. She was in the woods. Hans was sitting over a campfire, cooking. As
she sat up, he looked over and smiled.
For a moment she wondered if it had all been a dream, if Maeve had
just been a fantasy, but she knew it couldn’t be.
“I’ve made breakfast,” Hans said.
“What’s happened? Where’s Maeve?”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, bringing her a piece of fish: it was
hot to the touch and slightly charred. “You should eat, we still have a long
way to go.”
“To go? Hans, where are we? What’s happened?”
“We’re on the way to the village.” He looked away from her and went
back to cooking, twirling a piece of meat over the fire on a sharpened stick.
“I said we would leave and we did. Now we must focus on the next place.”
“But Hans,” she said, ignoring the food, “I didn’t want to leave, I don’t
even remember leaving... I...” She started to panic as she realised. “I didn’t
even say goodbye.”
“No matter, I’m sure she was aware of your gratitude.” There was a
note of bitterness in his tone.
“Hans, I have to go back.” She tried to pull herself up off the ground,
but she felt dizzy and unsteady on her feet. “I have to see her.”
“Sit down!” he snapped. “Eat your breakfast and just sit down.”
But Gretel was determined. Unsteadily she stood and turned around,
looking to the trees and trying to figure out which way to go.
“Gretel!” Hans was suddenly behind her: he grabbed her arm and
pulled
her back. “You will stay or I will make you stay.”
His anger frightened her. She had never known him to be so furious
with her and he had never threatened her this way. Suddenly the drowsiness
and the dizziness made sense and she knew why she remembered nothing.
“You gave me the sleeping draught,” she said, shocked. Even as she
said the words, she could hardly believe them.
“It was for your own good!” he said, but the sincerity in his voice did
nothing to ease her concerns. She twisted out of his grip.
“You don’t know what’s good for me!” She turned to leave. “I’m going
back to her.”
“That devil’s whore had you bewitched!” he snarled.
The horror of shame and embarrassment twisted inside her. She should
have known he wouldn’t be so calm about what he had seen, she should
have known he was just biding his time to make his move, and now he had
pulled her away, without a chance to explain, without letting her make a
choice.
“You’re wrong!” she said.
“You’re a fool, Gretel, she was a witch: she put you under a spell and
now we must get as far from this place as we can.”
“I love her, Hans!” She was furious with him, furious that he’d made
her decision for her and furious that he would belittle what she felt, and, as
she said the words, she knew they were true. She knew there was nothing
truer. “I’m going back to her.” She turned and began to walk.
“You can’t go back to her!” he said.
But she ignored his words: she would not listen to him, she would not
be persuaded by him, he had nothing to say to her that would make her
listen.
“She’s dead.”
Gretel stopped. A cold chill ran through her body. She looked at her
brother: the hate she saw on his face was something new, something she
had never seen before. She could hardly believe it and yet...
“What did you do?” she struggled to ask.
“I did what should be done with all witches!” He seemed almost proud
of his achievement. “I gave her the potion to make her sleep and then I set
fire to the cottage. She is nothing but ashes and bones.”
“You murdered her....” Gretel whispered, barely able to form the words
in her mouth.
“She was a witch, Gretel, she had you enchanted! But she is gone now,
you need not worry anymore.”