Cupping Hansel’s face with her hands, Ginger 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,” Ginger 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 Ginger 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!” Ginger 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 Ginger 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.
Ginger 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 Ginger’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. He jabbed repeatedly, shaking against her, until Ginger pushed him back with a grin.
“Once won't be enough,” she announced breathlessly, sweaty face grinning.
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 Ginger’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 Ginger angrily, clad once more in her silk robe. “You’ve served your purpose! Back to the cages with 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.
Ginger 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 Ginger once more. “What’s so God damned important ‘bout me bein’ a virgin?”
Ginger 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 wouldn't 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,” Ginger 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 with grim simplicity. “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.
Ginger 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.”
Ginger’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 Ginger 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 Ginger, bonfire eyes burning into first Hansel, then Gretel as the hag whirled about, convulsing in barely-controlled pain.
But neither of the twins responded. Instead, their eyes flashed quickly to one another’s, exchanging a voiceless plan. And in that moment, understanding the rapport between her two captives, Ginger 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 smugly, 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 loud 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 your 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 Ginger’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 you're fucked!”
An ear-splitting howl of terror and agony shattered the air as Ginger 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, leaving nothing but the crackling of flames upon quickly-charring bones.
“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 t' Ginger?”
Hansel thought a moment, staring through the grill of the oven at the burning husk of the witch’s corpse. “So we say we inherited th' place,” he suggested. “’Aunt Ginger’ passed th’ diner down t' us after her unfortunate an' untimely demise.”
Gretel snorted mirthfully. “’Aunt Ginger?’”
Hansel grinned. “Sure. Why not?”
EPILOGUE
The gaudily-painted Cadillac rumbled to a stop in a space before the diner. What had once read “Ginger's Diner” had been artfully changed to read “Gingerbread,” with a new legend painted beneath: “Taste Something New.” The woman behind the wheel was attractively coiffed, clad in the first new dress she had owned in years.
Seems like a nice ‘nuff place t’ start my search for a 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, the woman had decided she was not going to tip the bubbly, buxom teen.
“Getting’ near t' 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 hick 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. “But th' 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 her compact closed, 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 gaze 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’ gingerbread?”
Mother blinked, lips working as she tried to speak. “Th’...th—“
“Th’ gingerbread,” Hansel said emphatically. “We made it special, just for ya, soon as we saw ya walk in.” The smile he wore was identical to his sister's: conspiratorially sinister.
The twins’ mother swallowed nervously, looking at the crust from the slice of gingerbread 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’ lady 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 with false pride. “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.”
Mother rose from the bench, unsure of why she felt a touch of intimidation. It was the way her children were smiling, as if they knew something she did not. That idea alone was enough to make her nervous, especially considering the mention of the pie.
“I just might do that,” Mother said, backing toward the door. “But, it, uh, looks like ya’ll’re closin’--”
“Good night, Mother,” the twins said together, watching their mother leave. The door clanged shut after her retreat, the chime echoing in the cool air. Hansel and Gretel watched through the darkened doors as Mother stumbled toward her car, casting anxious glances backward.
“Think we should’a told her?” Gretel asked her brother.
Hansel smirked. “Nah. I got a feeling she’ll find out right soon enough what the Potion o’ th’ Ugly Heart does.”
Gretel chuckled. “Too bad it’s permanent, huh?”
“Yep. Too bad.”
Outside in the parking lot, Mother leaned against the Cadillac, catching her breath. Although she could not rid her mind of the thought that her disenfranchised children had done something to her food—most likely spiked it with a laxative or somethin’—the fact that she was away from them gave her some relief.
Well, good for them, she thought. But I definitely ain’t never comin’ back t’ this place.
Behind her, she heard one of the men from inside the diner clearing his throat. Mother perked at the sound. Hmm. Perhaps this won’t be a total loss after all, she thought and turned about, mustering her best seductive smile.
“’Scuse me an’ all, ma’am,” began the stocky man as he stood beside his Ford pickup. “But I was wonderin’ if ya—oh! Lordy Jesus!” he exclaimed, face twisted in an expression of disgust. He fumbled with his keys, running around to the driver’s side of the truck. Mother heard him make retching noises before he managed to jerk open the door. Tires screeched upon gravel, making the woman shield her face from flying debris as the truck sped away.
“Well!” she sputtered. “That was just rude!” No, I definitely ain’t comin’ back this way.
Then she turned and caught her own reflection in the darkened windows of th
e now-closed diner.
And screamed in terror upon beholding the most hideous, disgusting vision of ugliness she would ever witness. It was a scream so heart-wrenching that windows rattled and small animals fled. A scream that only ended when the world’s ugliest woman finally surrendered to horror-born unconsciousness.
* * * *
Within the diner, the twins shared a triumphant look as they gazed out through the windows. “Ya know, that felt better’n I thought it would,” Hansel said.
Gretel inhaled deeply, then let it out. She shared the same strange and almost comforting sense of closure and satisfaction as her brother. “Guess it was only right an’ just that Mother’d come see us sooner or later,” she said. She touched her brother’s arm. “Time for bed?”
Hansel smiled, taking Gretel’s hand. “Time for the rest of our life t’ start,” he said.
Hand in hand, the twins turned and headed back through the diner, ultimately to their rooms beyond the kitchen. Their hearts felt lighter and their future appeared more clear. Only time would tell what would befall Hansel and Gretel. But one thing was for certain:
They lived happily ever after.
The End
ABOUT GABRIEL DAEMON
Gabriel Daemon has been self-published online since 2006. He lives in San Antonio, Texas, where he cheers on his World Champion Spurs and sips dark German beer at his favorite pub.
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