“Oh, no,” he muttered, then slapped the bathroom key on the counter before running out, hurling open the door. “No! No! NO!”
Gretel followed, already feeling the tight lump in her chest, like a wrench twisting her heart. Hansel was jumping up and down, looking in all directions for their mother, his face furtive and desperate. Even though he had known abandonment was coming, the reality was abruptly depressing.
“She left us!” he cried, staring fearfully at Gretel, an expression of hopelessness upon his face. “She really left us!”
Gretel tried valiantly to suppress her own fear. “W-we knew she was gonna...” Please, Han, don’t go howlin’ at th’ moon now.
Hansel stopped his frantic jumping and made the supreme effort to calm himself. “You’re right, Greta,” he said, and took a deep breath. His arms wrapped around his sister as she came to him, shuddering with her own release of emotion. Comforting her gave him strength, and strength gave him clarity.
I can’t go fallin’ apart, he thought. Like Greta said, we knew this was gonna happen. So now it’s happened, and now we gotta figure out how t’ get back home. I sure hope that paint trail is there...
His eyes fell upon the picnic basket that sat upon the bench, in between the two men. They smiled lecherously upon the twins, moreso upon Gretel. Their body language and looks told Hansel they understood that they held sway over something they needed.
“That’s ours,” he said once Gretel had regained her composure. Gripping hands once again, they faced the two men.
The two men exchanged a sneering look before the one who spoke previously turned back. “What, this thing?” he asked, patting the basket. “I don’t see no one’s name on it. That lady you rode in with just set it down here and took off. I reckon it was a gift for a couple’a lonely old men.”
The other man nodded. “Mighty nice of her,” he muttered.
“That was our mother!” screeched Gretel impulsively. “And that basket’s for us!”
Hansel squeezed his sister’s hand, silently urging caution.
The crooked-toothed man chuckled. “If she was y’all’s momma, why’d she just take off like that?”
Hansel ground his teeth. “’Cause we’re poor,” he said. “And she don’t want us ‘round no more.”
The man laughed loudly. “Now, see, Dale, that’s th’ way t’ do it. Kids get old ‘nuff, you just take them out somewheres n’ drop ‘em off. Yep, that’s th’ way.”
Dale nodded, beady dark eyes focused on the narrow gap between Gretel’s taut young thighs. “Ain’t it, Harlon.”
Hansel felt backed into a corner. Whatever might happen, he understood that his and his sister’s chances of survival would be greatly enhanced by the contents of the picnic basket. They needed it, plain and simple. Bravely, he took a step toward the two men, releasing his hold on Gretel’s hand. “I’m takin’ that basket, sir. It belongs t' me and my sister.”
The man named Harlon arched an eyebrow in interest. “Just how you plan on takin’ it, boy? Only one’a you, and there’s two of us.”
Hansel swallowed nervously, yet stood his ground. “That don’t matter,” he insisted. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Harlon laughed again. “I just bet you would, youngster,” he said, then his eyes drifted to Gretel. “But would she?”
Hansel stiffened, understanding that, whatever the two men wanted from Gretel, it could not be good. “It ain’t ‘bout her, it’s ‘bout you and me.”
“Oh, I do think it’s ‘bout her,” Harlon said, both his face and tone menacing. “You two want this here basket, don’t’cha? Me and Dale, here, well...we want somethin’ too.”
Hansel shook his head, growing angry. His jaw set, fists clenched, he glared recklessly at the men. “Y’ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from my sister,” he growled.
“Ha! The puppy’s barin’ it’s fangs! Ain’t that fierce, Dale?”
Dale chuckled, licking his lips, eyes never leaving Gretel’s lithe body. “Ain’t it.”
Harlon stood, taking up the basket in a meaty hand. He stood an inch or two shorter than Hansel, but made up for his lack of height with a stocky frame and earth-toned muscles. “Me and Dale are gonna head ‘round back, take a look-see in this here basket,” he declared. “So unless that little lady wants to show us somethin’ more, eh...tasty, ya can say good-bye t’ it now.”
Hansel felt the impulse to rush the man and hopefully take the basket from him. He was certain he and Gretel could run faster than either man, and make it down the road before they could give chase. But Gretel’s hand slapping around his arm made him pause. He looked to his sister with a frown.
I know what they want, she thought, conveying her ideas to her brother. Ya know I ain’t cherry no more, so lemme get ‘em all riled up, then we can grab th’ basket and get outta here.
Hansel tensed, but he could not think of a better plan. He gave a short, reluctant, nod. All right.
They followed the two men around the back of the store, to a little space between Avery’s Market and some nameless shack that Hansel assumed was Mr. Avery’s abode. There, beneath the bright sun, Harlon and Dale set the basket upon one of several milk crates that lay about, between the back door of the grocery store and a large, ancient, dented steel dumpster. The aroma of rotting garbage was powerful in the air.
“So, you gonna show us somethin’, girly?” sniggered Harlon.
Gretel stood impassive for a moment beside her brother, then stepped forward, curling her fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. “I’m only showin’,” she said, then lifted her shirt, exposing the firm hemispheres of flesh that adorned her chest. Pale in comparison to her tanned arms and legs, Gretel’s breasts were almost creamy white, sporting thick pink nipples atop aureoles the size of dollar coins.
Harlon’s gaze clouded with lust while beside him, Dale licked his thick, chapped lips. “Now, that’s a tasty sight, all right,” Harlon said. “Ain’t seen tits like that since your cousin came t’ visit, Dale.”
“Yep, them’s nice,” Dale agreed. “But I can see hills near every day. Ain’t too often I get a peek at a nice little valley.”
Gretel’s cheeks paled. She glanced to Hansel, who struggled to contain his anger. That single look was all it took for them to agree. But ya best be ready, Han.
Hansel nodded imperceptibly. I am.
Gretel returned her attention to the two lecherous men. “If I show ya all’a me, then we get th’ basket?” she asked.
Harlon nodded, his eyes narrowed and sly. “Of course, girlie,” he said in a patronizing tone. “But, uh, come on closer. We wanna get a good, close look.”
Gretel swallowed nervously, aware of her brother behind her, even though she could not see him. The knowledge of his presence gave her the strength to commit to the moment. Her eyes falling to the ground, Gretel stepped forward until she stood just a foot before the two men, then unceremoniously unsnapped her shorts and wiggled them off her hips. Along with a pair of faded, lime-green panties, they fell to her ankles.
“Holy Mary, Mother o’ Christ,” muttered Harlon, groping himself. “Just look at that beaver. That there’s womanly perfection.”
Dale stared, gape-mouthed and tongue hanging out like that of a basset hound on a hot summer day. “Ain’t it.”
Harlon’s breathing was ragged as he beheld the sight of Gretel’s exposed pussy, framed by soft, downy brown hair. Though Gretel, of course, had never trimmed her pubic hair, she was not bushy. The swell of her vulva were clearly visible, as well as her slender pink labia and the short barrel of her clitoral hood.
“Turn ‘round there, girlie,” Harlon urged, finding his voice again. “Turn ‘round an’ touch your toes.”
Hesitantly, Gretel did so, facing her brother. Hansel stared with an odd mixture of morbid fascination, detached arousal, and seething anger as his sister stood all but fully nude before him. He could accept that he found her beautiful, and so brazenly exposed as she was at that moment,
strangely sexy. But as she bent over, keeping her legs straight, exposing the entirety of her backside in such a lewd manner to the two men, those fleeting emotions vanished.
A cool calmness, a sense of deliberation, took hold of him. Captivated as they were by the exposition of Gretel’s sacred treasures, Harlon and Dale did not notice as Hansel stepped silently around behind them. But Gretel noticed, lifting her head just a little, and smiled. To further entrance her admirers, she reached back with her hands and pulled her cheeks apart, fully exposing the objects of her admirers’ affection.
“Look at that pink, Dale,” Harlon commented in awe. His eyes were fixated on the lightly fur-lined lips of Gretel’s sex, the puckered anus above. “Even her brownie’s pink! Ain’t nothin’ fresher’n that. Man, it’s gonna be good to get my willy up in that sweet li’l slice o’ pie . . .” he trailed off, pushing up from his crouch, fumbling with his old jeans.
“Ain’t—“ began Dale.
Bonk!
Just as he fished out his penis, hard at the prospect of violating the teenager before him, Harlon frowned in confusion as Dale collapsed with a groan beside him. Harlon turned, looking upon Hansel, who stood with a length of wood held in his hands.
“Now, that just ain’t right!” complained Harlon.
Hansel grinned, bringing back the board in preparation. “Ain’t it?” he asked rhetorically, then swung.
* * * *
The basket held sandwiches wrapped in butcher paper, fruit, and a jug of water. Enough, at least, for a day, but not much more. Still, it was something, and it gave the twins hope. They each partook of a sandwich and a single selection from the fruit; an apple for Hansel, a pear for Gretel.
“Ain’t never seen ya like that,” Hansel said at last as they walked the lonely country road, following the occasional drop of glowing green paint that lay upon the road. For that, at least, Hansel was glad; part of his plan seemed to be working out.
Gretel shrugged. “Got us outta there, didn’t it?” she asked simply, chewing on a bite of her pear. “’Sides, ain’t like ya never seen me nekkid before.”
“But that’s always been different,” Hansel said, feeling a strange tickling sensation in the pit of his stomach. The image of his twin sister’s brazen nudity was a powerful one, he had to admit. He was not sure what to make of it, or how he felt about it. “Ain’t the same, now.”
She gave a furtive glance to her brother. “Guess it ain’t,” she agreed. “But there ain’t no goin’ back. It’s done, an’ it worked, so...let’s just get home.”
Hansel nodded, pushing away the faint traces of incestuous thought that had begun growing in his mind. He looked all around, seeing nothing but desolate prairie, mountains in the distance. A powerful sense of despair rolled through him; the mountains—wherein lay Brimstone, he knew, though he knew not where—were so far away. More than it would take just a few days of walking to reach.
“We’re gonna need t’ hitch a ride somehow,” he said at last.
“How?” asked Gretel, casting her gaze about. Her voice was strongly tinted with an hysteric edge of depression. “We ain’t seen no car for over an hour now!”
“Someone’s gotta come by,” Hansel said. Intuition struck him. “Soon as we see a car or truck or whatever, ya stick out your thumb. Show some leg.”
Gretel tittered. “’Show some leg?’”
Hansel grinned. “Hey, if I was drivin’ ‘long some old dusty road and saw a cute thing flashin’ her leg, I’d sure as hell stop.”
Gretel smiled, a funny look on her face. “Ya think I’m cute?”
Hansel rolled his eyes. “Cute as a pug dog gnawin' on a bone,” he said dryly, although his statement could not hide from his twin that still-lingering feeling of arousal he had felt at seeing her nude.
Thankfully, Gretel said nothing. But she did smile, in an impish, mischievous way.
* * * *
It was late in the afternoon, and the twins were miles along the country road, yet still days from home. The mountains seemed no closer now then they had been at the beginning of their trek, and that was cause for no small amount of despair. Still, Hansel and Gretel soldiered on, for wont of any other driving force.
Then, finally...
The rumble reached Hansel’s ears first. He hesitated in his trudging walk; with Gretel a few paces ahead. The basket was heavy, scraping the side of his leg, rubbing the skin raw where it was exposed by his shorts. He had refused to let Gretel carry the basket, citing his strength relative to hers. She had rolled her eyes, but offered no rebuttal.
The rumble made Hansel look back, and when he saw the trail of dust cast high in the wake of an oncoming vehicle, he literally dropped the basket to the ground in elation. “A car!” he exclaimed.
Gretel spun about, hope lighting up her features. She grinned and began jumping up and down. “A car!” she echoed excitedly.
“C’mon! Quick!” urged Hansel, snatching up the basket and stepping off the side of the road. “Get out there!”
Gretel did not hesitate. She stood straight, standing along the edge of the road with her arm thrust out, thumb thrust up. She canted one of her legs out and pasted a ‘come-hither’ smile on her face.
The dust trail loomed closer, revealing a beat-up old sedan before it. Hansel watched anxiously as the car neared, slowing slightly. As soon as the car passed Gretel in her provocative pose, the brake lights flashed and tires skidded along the dirt and gravel. The venerable Ford stopped in the middle of the road.
Together, Hansel and Gretel ran up to the car. Gretel reached the driver-side open window and leaned upon the door. “Please, mister, we need a ride,” she deplored.
The man behind the wheel panned his gaze over Gretel’s body. Sweat had molded her shirt even moreso to her body, while casting off a sweet, youthful aroma. The man was somewhat pudgy, of average looks. “Well, uh, where ya goin’?” he asked, warily glancing to Hansel behind her.
“Brimstone,” Gretel responded.
The driver frowned. “Ain’t heard o’ that town,” he said. “How far is it?”
“It’s up in th’ mountains,” Hansel said, catching sight of a slightly-glowing green drop of paint on the road just ahead of the sedan. “I can tell ya how t’ get there.”
The driver rolled his eyes. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere near th’ mountains,” he said. “I gotta get t’ Bixby, and that’s down south, along th’ highway.”
Gretel begged with her eyes. “Please, mister.”
The pudgy man took a breath, ogling Gretel once more. “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s really outta my way.”
Gretel thought a moment, chewing her lip. She looked back to her brother briefly, exchanging thoughts. With a reluctant nod, Hansel agreed. Gretel turned back.
“What if, uh...I do somethin’ for ya?” she suggested.
The driver arched his eyebrows in interest and instant arousal. “What’cha got in mind?”
Gretel shrugged, glancing around casually. “A hummer?”
The pudgy man smiled slowly. “Get in th’ car,” he said.
* * * *
Mr. James Cray, the driver of the old sedan, was a surprisingly nervous and shy man, given the agreement he and Gretel had struck. She got in through the front passenger door, taking half of the long bench seat, while Hansel crawled in the back, setting the basket beside him. James—‘Jimmy’—asked some typical questions, and received the typical answers from Gretel. As far as the driver was concerned, it was just he and Gretel.
“So, um...ya really gonna...um, you know...” he prompted awkwardly, smiling nervously upon Gretel.
She smiled back, sweetly. “Ya really gonna take us t’ Brimstone?” she asked.
Jimmy nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah.”
Gretel shot her brother a quick look, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, then slid closer to their ad hoc chauffeur. She settled a hand on his thigh and brushed his ear with her lips. “Then I’m really gonna suck ya,�
� she whispered.
Jimmy shuddered. “Oh-h-h, wow.”
Gretel giggled. Jimmy’s skittishness was endearing; for whatever reasons, it practically encouraged her to continue. Gretel felt that she was in charge, that nothing would happen without her consent, unlike the way she had felt with Harlon and Dale behind the grocery store. Perhaps because of that feeling, Gretel was emboldened, encouraged.
“Ain’t ya ever had your dick sucked, Jimmy?” she whispered sultrily.
Jimmy swallowed thickly, beads of sweat appearing on his brow. “Um, not like this,” he said, then let out a nervous laugh. “Actually, uh...not really much at all.”
“Well,” began Gretel as she worked at his jeans, a blushing smile crossing her face. “All I can say is ya best keep your eyes on th’ road, then.” And with that, she leaned over, settling her head in the man’s lap.
Hansel tried not to think about what his sister was doing, but that was a useless venture. Between the soft moans and wet sucking, pulling sounds Gretel made, and the gasps and groans of her lucky recipient, Hansel could hardly think of anything else.
Against his better judgment, Hansel watched between the seats as his twin bobbed up and down, the muscles of her narrow back outlined beneath her tight shirt. Her right shoulder moved, evidence of her manipulation of the cock that plunged into her mouth again and again. Now and then, Hansel heard his sister sigh, and she would pause, moving her head only slightly. Hansel could just imagine his sister licking up and down their benefactors’ stiff shaft. That image brought out feelings of both arousal and jealousy.
Still, Hansel had enough sense to keep an eye on the road, spying the glowing drops of green paint upon the dirt and gravel. It was only this fact—the proof that they were heading in the right direction—that allowed him to stomach the idea of watching his sister giving head.
“Oh, God, oh God,” moaned Jimmy, abruptly pulling off the road, the tires of the car digging into dead grass. He cut the engine and leaned back, placing both of his hands on Gretel’s bouncing head. “Do it, baby! Yeah! Yeah! I’m comin'!”
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