Tasting Gretel

by Lidiya Foxglove

  Finally, there was the last bit. A sort of undergarment made of supple leather, with a stiff wooden phallus jutting out on the inside. It was the same sort of soft, living wood that the bonds on the rack were made out of. I wondered if he could make the phallus move with the tap of his wand, the way the bonds open and shut.

  I hesitated although I was so wet I certainly would have no trouble putting it on. Perhaps my hesitation was simply that it ashamed me how eager I was and that he could see that eagerness. Or maybe it was because I was dreaming of being fucked by that thing until I reached my peak, and I knew this was not what would happen. He had already made that clear.

  “Go on, Gretel. We have a lot of work to do.”

  I stepped into the undergarment and drew it up my legs until the phallus touched my entrance. Now I had to reach down and guide it in. I’d stroked my inner passage with my fingers before but never anything so large as this. I was so slick there that it wasn’t as much trouble as I would expect, but the feeling was intense as it stretched and filled me like nothing ever had before. I was already so aroused that the single stroke of pushing it past my inner walls made me moan. It felt as smooth as glass—and as hard, too, the length of it unyielding inside me. I clutched the table with my free hand.

  “Look at me,” he said, when I shut my eyes and dropped my head.

  I bit my lip, forcing my eyes upward.

  “I regret that I can only offer you something inanimate,” he said. “Does it brush your sweet spot inside?”

  “Ahh…maybe…almost.” As I forced the last inch inside me, I felt something like a fingertip brushing across a spot of hot pleasure, not unlike my clit, but deep inside. It was only a fluttering touch. I wanted to scream for more.

  “Almost is exactly the right answer,” he said. He tapped the edges of the soft leather around my pussy with the wand, checking to see that it fit, I suppose. “Now, I am going to shift the wood a bit. You should also feel a slight pressure on your clit,” he said. He stroked the wand across the leather right where my clit was, and I felt two small, precise pieces of wood slide up to hug my swollen bud, like two fingers gently pinching me there. In both cases I felt like someone was touching me, faintly. Testing me. Teasing at my desire.

  It was subtle, and subtle was more cruel than anything. My heart was pounding. My inner walls clenched against the firm intrusion inside them. I couldn’t help it; I stroked my hand along my clit, trying to stimulate myself through the leather. I wanted a firmer touch.

  He flicked the wand at my hand, producing a sharp brief snap of pain. “You know the bargain, Gretel.”

  “I can’t bear it.”

  “You will learn to bear it. Look at my cock.” His manhood was a cruel, swollen length from watching me. “I would give anything to touch you right now, but…if you really do want to save me, this is our only hope. My magic must be pushed to the limit.”

  “What will that do?”

  “Every day you’re here, as your desire builds, my magic grows stronger and the confections I make for the Wicked Revels will be more and more delicious. Currently, the king and queen would love to get rid of me. But the more you’re begging to be satisfied, the more delicious the cake will taste. Magic feeds on sacrifice.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just repeating your old mistake in a different way? Feeding on desire, like with the masks?”

  “No,” he said. “This is why I asked your permission explicitly. Before, I was feeding on all of my subjects and they didn’t even know. I have no wish to do that anymore. I am just drawing magic from you. We have spoken the right words to each other and there is no deception. If I fail this time, that will be the end. If I succeed, I will have you and only you.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you regret giving your permission?”

  I wanted him so badly that it was unbearable, but I knew I would bear it. A part of me relished it. In the end, I felt sure I would be satisfied so fully that every moment of this would be worth it. “No…”

  “If you start to feel yourself tipping forward into satisfaction, you will tell me,” he said. “So I can stop you.”

  “Yes….,” I said, the word wringing out of me.

  “Now, we’re going to work and you have to try and focus, because the court expects the finest, every night. Since you have such a fine eye for detail, and careful hands, I wonder if you could make me some decorations of marzipan to top the cakes?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  I would never have been able to buy such things. He offered me several rolls of marzipan wrapped in paper with a band of gold foil around them with a picture that said “Gloss Family Confections, Serving the Royal Families for 250 Years”. The shops in Aupenburg did not even sell such things, needless to say. I had an array of colorings to work into the marzipan, in the warm shades of berry juices and flower petals, and immediately I started coloring and forming the paste into shapes.

  “How many cakes are you making?” I asked.

  “Just three today.”

  “What do you think of each cake having a theme with tiny little marzipan figures? One could be a mother bird feeding her little ones, one a farmyard with chickens and pigs, one a unicorn in a grove of flowers.”

  “Do you think you can manage all that on your first try?”

  “I don’t know, but is there any harm in the attempt?”

  “Start with the farmyard,” he said. “See how you do.”

  While I shaped marzipan, he mixed the cake batter. Whenever I moved, I was teased with little bits of stimulation. Even staying perfectly still, I felt a faint pressure on my clit, and if I considered it too much, I started feeling like I was on fire, my core throbbing with desire. His presence alone always provided an additional stirring. He was so handsome, so confident as he worked that I would never know he hadn’t been a baker since childhood. The fact that he could not tell me everything mirrored the fact that he couldn’t touch me. I wondered if there was anyone who could tell me the full story.

  I kept my hands very busy and tried my best not to think of it. Now that I was working with him, we talked a little more, although he seemed reluctant to engage in any substantial conversation.

  “I don’t know if I should speak of the Wicked Revels when I can’t bring you to the dance,” he said.

  “I am happy just to be here, but I want to know what happens there. How did you become the king? Were you born there?”

  “No, actually. That may have been why I didn’t manage it as I should. I grew up in more of an ordinary faery court.”

  “What does an ordinary faery court look like?”

  “To a human, maybe not that ordinary. Where do I even begin?” His attention seemed to drift into memory. “No, it wasn’t ordinary, after all.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I am from the court of Ellurine.” The name rolled off his tongue like it had a life of its own. “Have you heard of it?”

  “No. But I’m only a farm girl.” I lifted my eyebrows.

  “Why do you do that, Gretel? Claim to be only a farm girl? You know you are more than that now.”

  “They would think me…less than that now,” I stammered. I guess deep down, I was like Hansel after all, worrying I had done something wrong.

  The Magus scoffed. “Own what you are, my dear.” He continued, “As a child, I didn’t have any proper lessons. Faery children there can spend their days running wild. Nothing is considered naughty unless irreparable damage is done.”

  “So nothing we’re doing now is naughty, is it?”

  That almost got a smile out of him. “Not to me. However…” He spooned honey out of a stone crock. “When you come of age, everything changes. At that point, Ellurine becomes a theater, where everyone has a costume and a role. Lines to speak. Actions to perform. Once your role is decided, that is who you will be forever. You take the role from someone else, and when you die, it goes on to the next.”

  “That sounds strict.”


  “Every court in the world has some version of it,” he said. “Every king is just playing a role. But yes, in Ellurine it goes much farther. It isn’t just kings and queens, but the entire court. There are several ministers whose sole job is to counsel everyone on their roles and quietly remove those who can’t conform. Some people dream of attaining one of these coveted roles, but I was horrified of it.”

  “I can see why! But you didn’t stay in Ellurine. Now I understand why you said you felt so free at the Revels.”

  “Yes,” he said, snapping the spoon against the rim of the bowl. The honey slid slowly into a pool of melted butter. “That life would have broken me. My nephew Deniel is next in line for the throne now, and he’s wrestling with the burden. I don’t envy him.”

  “How did you end up leading the Wicked Revels, then?”

  “The King of the Wicked Revels at that time was my father’s cousin, Llynfar. I begged him to appoint me as his heir so I could escape Ellurine. And he did. When Llynfar died, he left the Revels to me. I was—so he said—the correct mix of responsible and wild. You don’t want the King of the Revels to be too responsible.”

  “Will is too responsible, isn’t he?”

  “I dare not comment on what I think of Will.” He beat a bowl of batter with vigor.

  But King Will certainly must have liked the desserts from last night. His coach came riding up to the cottage again before nightfall, and once again I hid in the pantry.

  “I don’t know what you did last night, but do it again,” he said. His voice, compared to the Magus’ low liquid growl, was plain and direct. “And make more if you can. Everything was gone before the first jig.”

  “I’ll try. I can only make so much. Hopefully the ones I have made today will do.”

  “These are rather whimsical,” Will said, with some surprise. He must have been looking at my marzipan decorations. “I didn’t take you for having much…whimsy.”

  “Well.” It was a shrug of a word. “Enjoy them.”

  I heard Will’s footsteps move—it sounded like he had a bad leg. Then stop. “Are you up to something, Magus?”

  “New recipes.”

  “Are you alone here?”

  “Ah, Will, faeries cannot lie. I’m never alone. There are always mice in this cottage despite my best efforts to discourage them.”

  “Not in the cake, I hope.”

  “Never.”

  Soon the pantry door swung open. “You’ve done very well, Gretel, in ways I didn’t expect. It’s as if your decorations for the cakes complement the magic you’ve given me with a visual.”

  “I seem to be making Will suspicious.”

  “You are. It doesn’t matter. He likes the food too much to push any farther. He tasted the magic. No one is immune to the charms.”

  I couldn’t help but think the Magus was being a bit wicked, despite his protests, but I didn’t say anything. “I enjoyed doing it,” I said, hoping this meant I could become a regular part of the shop.

  He fed me another glorious meal; the food seemed to appear like magic. Before I went to bed, he said, “You can take off your panties now.”

  Despite the constant teasing of it, I hated to remove them too, because I would feel so empty. The phallus was like a proxy for him. It was coated with the wetness that had been trickling out of me all day.

  “Remember, Gretel, don’t touch yourself.” He said this like they were magic words.

  “I won’t.”

  But as the days went on, it was almost impossible to resist.

  Chapter Seven

  Gretel

  I survived it for almost two weeks. Two weeks! I had agreed to survive it forever, but how could I do such a thing? I must not have known how long forever was. No one could survive this, I told myself. The shape of the phallus and the wooden fingers gently pinching my clit changed a little every day, as if to provide a slightly new experience and new surprise every day, so I was never offered the relief of being dulled to the sensation. A part of me was always on the edge of losing my mind.

  But I could not lose my mind, because I finally had work worthy of my talents and interests. I would have aspired to be a baker long ago if I’d known, I thought. I sprinkled poppy seeds on little twists of pastry. I painstakingly decorated two hundred chocolates with a star pattern made of almond shards. I cut candied orange peels into long strips and draped them on tiny honey cakes. I iced cakes and covered them in patterns of drizzled icing and shavings of chocolate or rings of different colored berries. I made everything look beautiful and I took pride in doing it.

  And I was getting to know him better, liking him more every day. We worked so well together, and it suited me. We fell into patterns of understanding, turning out our sweets like parts of a clockwork. We could go hours without speaking, but it never felt strange. I felt like I was home. When we did speak, slowly peeling back the layers of ourselves, I realized I had finally found the person who understood me.

  One morning I woke to find I was fondling myself in my sleep. I snapped my hand away, but it felt so wonderful. I wanted more. I let my hands drift to my breasts instead, trying to soothe away the ache of desire with something gentler.

  It was no use. Would he really know if I touched myself just for a few moments? Just a moment… All the fantasies of things I wished for the Magus to do to me sprang to mind immediately and I was half-lost in it. Before I knew it, I felt a tingling pulse that signaled I was growing very close, and this frightened me enough to stop. I dragged myself out of bed.

  I can’t hold out. I just can’t. There seems no end to this waiting. I need his touch. Or at least I need someone’s touch, even my own! What can I do? Whenever anyone came to the cottage to pick up the sweets, he made me hide. Maybe I just had to keep waiting, but he couldn’t tell me if or when I would ever get what I wanted.

  I can’t keep waiting. But what could I do, leave him?

  When I saw him that morning, I feared he would know I had been weak. He gave no sign of that, however. We had breakfast as usual, but I was agitated. Electrified with wanting.

  We went to the workroom and it was the same as every other morning, but when the slivers of wood hugged my clit, my body started pulsing urgently. I was so heated that even this insufficient touch was going to push me too far. My brain raced for a moment. I need to tell him I’m too close.

  I simply couldn’t make myself say the words. I turned to a bowl of strawberries that needed trimming but my inner walls clamped against the phallus and I was flexing against that firm length and seeing stars. I made an involuntary gasp. Suddenly I was coming and I couldn’t stop it. I knew I shouldn’t let this happen, if I had any choice, but it was the most glorious sensation I could imagine. I was shattering, the feelings radiating all the way to my fingers and toes. I leaned on the table, making quick and anguished breaths, as heat convulsed through me. My knees sagged. The relief of it!

  “Gretel!” he barked.

  “Please—I can’t—“ I was sobbing as it passed through me. “It’s too much. I’ve failed you. I—I—“

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were so close?”

  “I couldn’t! I needed this!”

  “You know what I asked of you!”

  “I know, but—“

  He lifted my skirt and spanked my ass hard several times. This only seemed to intensify the final waves of my orgasm. I bowed forward onto the table, flour smudging my face and hands, craving more of his precious touch.

  He hissed, pulling back. His palm was an angry red.

  “Curses!” He raged, kicking over a butter churn. “Curses on all of them. Damn King Will, damn my court, damn that ugly goblin, damn me.”

  “Ugly goblin? What goblin?”

  “Damn you too.” He pounded his fists on the table.

  I was a little more myself now and as the haze lifted I realized that he might have to send me away now. I straightened up slowly. The dread of it made me feel heavy. I didn’t know where I would go if I c
ouldn’t be here. It was impossible, the idea of leaving him. Utterly impossible. “Magus—“

  “Take off your clothes and get on the rack.”

  I obeyed him quickly and my relief seemed so short lived. As he tapped the restraints with his wand and they closed around my wrists and ankles, I thought I was more aroused than ever. I started crying. My tears sounded rather angry in my frustration.

  He unbuttoned his trousers and took out his stiff cock. I went silent at the sight of it. Only my pussy wept now.

  “Please,” I whispered, although looking at his hand, I knew he could do nothing.

  He put his burnt hand on the wall behind me, and stroked his cock with his other hand, so close that I could feel the warmth of his body. His hand slid faster and faster along his thick length, and I moaned, just thinking about how it would feel to touch him, to have him inside me, warm and living. I knew we would find the perfect rhythm, just as we did when we worked together.

  “Gretel.” His voice was rough. “If you’ve ruined this, it’s only fair we both enjoy it.” He started spilling his seed so fast that I knew he had shared all my desire. The hot liquid hit my bare stomach as he breathed quick, with an unbidden, anguished growl at the back of it all.

  He looked immediately healthier, with more color in his face. Stripped of his royal title, I thought, he was just the Magus. And this was his magic. Not healing or creating fire or bottling up curses, like an ordinary mage. Pleasure was his currency, and without it, he was as poor and starved as I had ever been.

  He searched my face. “I want to dry your tears,” he said. “I wish I could touch you. I wish I could…show you how I feel for you. You understand me, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ve been given a sentence and I’ve been given a curse. Together, they have made my fate impossible.”

  I thought about this for a moment—a sentence, and a curse. “King Will sentenced you not to touch me. Is the ugly goblin the one who cursed you, then?”