by Radclyffe
Still, to be on the safe side, he polished it up so that it practically glowed, made it appear like it really could be made of gold. It did look, in fact, that it was worth the fifty bucks that had been given to him. His father would never be the wiser about that one. And when they’d finished with the cake that night and it was time to hand over the presents, Jake was sure his stepmonster would love it. Not that he cared, but he did like to make his dad happy.
Their reactions to his gift, as it turned out, were mixed. Jake didn’t think that either really knew what to make of it. And he relayed Mr. Harrington’s story word for word, just to be on the safe side.
“But your mother doesn’t know how to play the harp,” his dad said.
“Well, it is pretty,” his stepmother interjected. “Thank you, Jake. It’s a very thoughtful gift.”
“And it made Jack rich, so there’s no telling what it will do for us.”
“Yes, well, okay, time for bed,” his father said, placing the harp on the mantelpiece. “I think the only things rich around here are the cake we just ate and that story Mr. Harrington told you.”
Jake laughed even though he was hurt by his father’s remarks. His stepmonster, at least, seemed to like the thing, and it was her birthday, after all. And yet, there was still something nagging at him.
So once the house was silent, he tiptoed back into the living room and brought the harp back with him to his bedroom. “Mr. Harrington said that someone like me could make it sing,” he said to himself as he sat with it on the floor. “But how do I make it sing?” That was when he remembered the story his mother had told him so many years earlier. The giant had commanded the harp to sing. “Maybe that’s all it takes. Okay then, Harp, sing. Sing, Harp, sing.”
Jake waited. And waited. And waited some more, all the while commanding the harp to sing. But nothing happened. Not a peep. “Maybe she’s been asleep too long. Maybe it’ll take a while for her to wake up. And maybe the whole thing is just a fairy tale after all.” Jake moped back to his bed and sadly drifted off to sleep. He slept a deep sleep, filled with dreams of giants and golden eggs. He slept a sleep so deep, in fact, that he didn’t hear, sometime in the middle of the night, the tiniest little voice coming from the floor.
“Master?” the voice squeaked out. “Master, are you there?”
Nothing. No one was there, the harp realized. So she sang, knowing that her master always came to that. But she had been asleep for so many countless years that all she could muster was the smallest of pitch-perfect peeps. And still nothing. No one came for her, neither her master nor anyone else. So she shut her eyes and simply waited.
And that was how Jake found her in the morning, just as he had left her, with her eyes closed and her voice silent. But something was different, all right. For there, outside his window, in full, lush greenery, was a massive beanstalk. Jake rushed to his window, opened it, and then stuck his head out, eyes wide as saucers, jaw hanging limp. He looked the enormous thing up and down. It stretched as far as his eyes could see, all the way up and into the clouds, in fact.
“Holy cow!” he shouted. “Look, Harp. The beanstalk! You must’ve sung while I was sleeping, Harp. Sing again. Sing, Harp, sing!”
And lo and behold, the harp once again opened her eyes, and this time she let out a painful shriek. She screamed as loud as her little frame allowed her, “Master! Master, help!” Well, that simply would not do. Jake didn’t pay ten dollars for a shrieking harp. So he ran from the window, scooped her up, and climbed outside so as not to wake his parents, who surely wouldn’t understand a screeching harp and a giant beanstalk.
When he was outside, he closed the window behind him and looked sharply at the harp, which he could still hear screaming even behind his muffling hand. “Okay, listen here, Harp. You have to shut up before you wake up the whole darn neighborhood.” But she kept right on screaming behind Jake’s hand. “Okay, okay. How about I take you back to your master? Then will you shut up?”
The harp stopped screaming and looked up at Jake and blinked. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. He removed his hand from her tiny golden mouth. “Okay, I guess we’re going up the beanstalk, then.” He knew his parents would never allow that, so he didn’t tell them his plan first. Besides, he reasoned, the giant was already dead, or so the story went, so how could there be any danger? And maybe there’d be more golden egg–laying geese up there. Then he could buy as many comics as his heart desired.
So he climbed. And climbed. And climbed. Until at last he was at the tippy-top of the beanstalk and high, high, high above the clouds. Miraculously, when he finally hopped off, he was standing on solid ground. “Thank goodness for that,” he said, and then made his way toward the castle that sat a mere few hundred yards away. He figured he could leave the harp on the doorstep and go searching for any animals, geese or otherwise, that laid golden eggs.
But before he could leave the harp by the door, she once again shouted out, “Master! Help, Master, help!” And from behind the door Jake could hear the sound of feet fast approaching.
The door creaked open. On the other side wasn’t a giant, but another young man just like Jake. “Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!” the stranger roared.
Jake scratched his head. You and what army? he thought. “Um, yeah, I’m just here to return your harp is all.”
The stranger stared down. “Harp? Is that you, Harp? Sing to me, Harp!” he commanded. And the harp sang, sang and sang in fact, a song so beautiful as to bring a tear to both the young men’s eyes. “Why did you steal her?” said the other man, when the song was at last finished.
“You’ve got the wrong person. That was Jack; I’m Jake. And I’m returning the harp, not stealing it.”
“Jake, Jack. Sounds the same to me,” he said and started to raise his fists in the air.
Jake couldn’t help but laugh. “Not going to grind my bones with those, you know.”
The stranger nodded and sighed, his arms and fists falling to his sides. “Guess that only worked for the master.” The sigh repeated. “He’s been gone so long now. Him and the goose.” Again he stared down at the harp. “But at least I’ll have her company again. Thank you for that.” He held his hand out. “Pete.”
Jake took Pete’s hand in his, a spark of electricity suddenly rising up his spine, a swarm of butterflies let loose inside his belly. “A pleasure to meet you, Pete.”
Pete nodded, their hands still clasped together. “Same here, Jake.”
“You made the harp sing,” Jake suddenly realized. “I was told you had to be special to make her do that.” The gap was suddenly closed between them, hands still as one. “What’s so special about you, Pete?”
There eyes were now inches apart. “Same thing that makes you special, I believe, Jake.” And the gap was suddenly completely closed; the two men’s lips joined, tongues thrashing as the harp again began to sing for them.
In seconds, they were both naked, not to mention hard and thick as the beanstalk itself, both dripping considerable amounts of sap. Finally neither one felt all that alone, the harp seemingly bringing them together,
As they stood entwined outside the massive door, it was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Both men sucked and stroked and kissed and licked and prodded and poked with abandon, exploring the other’s body as if was made especially for them.
And perhaps it was. Perhaps the harp was made for them as well. For when she finished her song, they finished their acts of love, their bodies drenched with sweat, sticky with that aforementioned sap, lips locked, vise-tight, eyes afraid to blink lest the other disappear.
A short while later, as they again sat there on the front stoop, dressed once more, catching their breath, they both heard a shout coming from the beanstalk. Jake looked up and spotted his stepmother frantically running their way.
“Don’t hurt my son!” she was shouting.
Jake sat there stupefied. In the years that they’d been together, he’d never heard her refer to him as her son. And he’d never expect her to risk her life for his, that was for sure. Especially considering the way he normally treated her, which was with indifference at best.
“Um, don’t worry, I’m fine,” said Jake. “But where’s Dad?”
His stepmother was still clutching her chest and was still breathing hard. “Last I saw, he was fast asleep. I thought I heard something, so I got up. Then I spotted the beanstalk, saw that you were missing, and came climbing up here to find you.” Just then, Jake saw his father climbing up and off the beanstalk, and then he too was running over to the group of them. He grabbed his son and his wife and hugged and kissed them on the top of their heads. He didn’t even notice Pete.
“Um, Dad, you’re embarrassing us in front of my, uh, my new friend here,” Jake said. And then he grinned, a smile so bright as to light up the sky itself. “See, Dad, I told you the harp was magic. And you should hear her sing. Just like an angel.”
“Sing, Harp,” Pete commanded.
And the harp did sing. And she did indeed sound like an angel, just as Jake had promised. And all four of them stood and watched and cried as she sang her beautiful song, until there were no tears left and it was time to go. But not before Jake asked Pete to come back with them, so he’d never have to be lonely ever again, so neither one of them would have to be.
Oh, Pete loved hearing that, for he was truly tired of being alone. “But wait,” he said to the happy family just before they all started their descent down the beanstalk. “I have a gift for you all.”
Pete ran around to the back of the castle and came around the other side in no time flat. In his hands he held a fat, honking goose.
“Wow, look at her!” Jake shouted. “I wonder how many comic books I can buy with a golden egg?”
“Oh,” said Pete, “sorry, but there was only one goose that could do that. This one lays plain old goose eggs. But they do make the richest cakes in the land.”
Jake frowned, but his parents laughed just the same and patted their son on the shoulder.
“Okay, real funny,” Jake said. “Let’s get home, then, and start baking. I’m starved. Dad, you go first, then me, then Pete, and then Mom.”
“You mean stepmom, right?”
“Semantics,” Jake said, with a sheepish grin.
And the four of them climbed down the beanstalk and they all lived happily ever after. Especially once they started baking cakes professionally. See, that goose really did lay some rich eggs. Now Jake and the Beanstalk bakeries can be found far and wide.
And that ain’t no fairy tale.
Veronica Wilde (veronicawilde.com) is an erotic romance author whose work has been published by Cleis Press, Bella Books, Liquid Silver Books, and Samhain Publishing.
This story is based on “The Snow Queen.”
Heartless
Veronica Wilde
The Snow Queen puts on her makeup at midnight in front of an old-fashioned vanity. Supernaturally beautiful, she needs the makeup to look human—to pass as a human woman done up as a gorgeous freak. As if past her dominatrix club owner persona, she still goes to bed at night worrying about her credit card bills and romantic troubles. Just a normal girl at heart.
But the Snow Queen, who has no heart, knows she will never be normal. Her flawless skin is a pale baby blue all over her long and curvy body, except where her nipples are a deeper blue, her pussy a flushed bluish violet. Her hair is a platinum waterfall and her lips are a deep rose red, the better to show off her movie-star smile. But her eyes are what disturb her club guests the most: the dark navy of a winter midnight, fathomless except for the gleam of a star.
Because she is beautiful, bespelling others is effortless for the Snow Queen. Love in the traditional sense might always stay a foreign language to her, but slavery is a substitute she doesn’t mind at all. She lives to seduce the butch young dykes who most please her taste, enjoying the slap of their hard muscles on her stomach as they fuck, the infatuation swimming in their eyes. It’s as good as love, she thinks. She drinks in their smitten adoration like nectar until her icy touch drains it out of them.
She herself has never experienced such emotions. Just once she would like to feel what they feel; just once she would like to become as intoxicated with one of her pets as they become with her. Yet the reverse always seems to happen instead. Instead of her absorbing their joy, they gradually become contaminated by her coldness. If they spend enough nights with her, they become little more than sullen zombies. Then it’s time to find someone new.
The Queen smooths on her lipstick and leans back. In the vanity mirror, lined with pink lightbulbs, she is as beautiful as a star. She puts one hand on her chest where her heartbeat should be. As always, there’s only silence.
She rises. It’s Saturday night and time to go downstairs and oversee her nightclub.
*
Outside, the city breathes and drips humidity. The heat has been rising for days, a blistering glare that empties the sidewalks in the afternoons and keeps everyone miserably awake each night. Electricity flickers across the city, hinting at an imminent blackout.
“I know it’s around here somewhere,” Gerda says. She’s reading a map on her phone. “Maybe down this way.”
“Just admit you lost the address.” Kai usually never snaps at her girlfriend, but the heat has made her irritable, and she doesn’t want to go to this party anyhow. It’s too hot to be wandering around the city trying to find Gerda’s old roommate’s new apartment.
“Don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling, Gerda. I just think it’s time to call it a night.” What Kai really wants is an ice-cold beer and cool cotton sheets to sleep naked in.
“We’re going to this party!” Even in her anger, Gerda looks beautiful, her cheeks flushed with heat.
“You’re going,” Kai says, pushing back her rumpled blond hair. “I’m going home.”
She stalks off without waiting for Gerda’s reaction. The humidity has worn out her patience. Taking a different downtown street in search of a cab, she’s mildly wary when a stranger stops her.
“Hot out tonight,” he says.
“No shit, Captain Obvious,” she mutters and goes around him.
“Hey!”
His tone is so urgent that she turns. “What?”
But whatever he wanted to say is lost. Instead he blows something like mirrored splinters into her eyes. She recoils and instinctively rubs her eyes—yet there’s no pain. She blinks.
He smiles and points up the street, to the blue lights of a nightclub looming over the sidewalk. Its luminous coolness beckons like a promise. “Come with me,” he says. And in a daze, Kai follows.
The bouncer gives the man a strange smile and waives the cover charge. Kai hesitates but goes in. Just one beer, just to get out of the heat for a few minutes.
The club is the arctic sanctuary of her dreams. The walls look like ice, and hundreds of fiber-optic stars in the ceiling suggest a nocturnal heaven. The bar glows blue. She shivers in her damp muscle shirt, looking at the dozens of shadows twisting on the dance floor. When the bouncer taps her shoulder and makes a follow me gesture, Kai tenses, but the bouncer only says something about meeting the owner and leads her to a staircase in the back.
They descend into a separate basement club lit by the flickering of electric torches. With a jolt, she sees that almost everyone is naked. A collared man is bent over a spanking stool, while other women and men are shackled to the walls or strapped to examination tables. The snap of a riding crop makes her jump.
Kai swallows. She’s never been into the BDSM scene, but she can recognize a dungeon when she sees one. “Sick,” she mutters and backs up. But when she turns to leave, she’s facing the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.
In the dungeon light, the Snow Queen glows like a goddess. Tall and voluptuous, with a platinum flow of hair, her ski
n appears a soft blue. Enraptured, Kai stares into her dark blue eyes. Meeting her gaze is like falling into an ocean with no bottom.
The Snow Queen smiles.
Kai stumbles on her words. “Uh, sorry. Hi. I’m Kai.”
Without answering, the Snow Queen takes Kai’s hips in her hands. Her fingers are cool even through Kai’s jeans, but she’s too struck by her lips to notice. They are a full, deep rose and all she can think about is feeling them on her pussy.
The Snow Queen kisses her. Her mouth is hot and tender in the dark dungeon. “Now you’re mine,” she says, but Kai thinks she must have misheard her over the music. Her head is swimming. She struggles to gather her wits. Be a challenge; that’s the way to impress a woman this beautiful.
“I’m on my way out, actually,” Kai announces brazenly. “My girlfriend is waiting for me at home.”
Distant fire flares in the Queen’s eyes but her voice stays cool. “I understand. This scene is a bit much for a vanilla girl like you, anyway.”
Kai bristles. “I’m not vanilla! I’ve—I’ve done all this stuff before.” She gestures grandly around the room.
She regrets the lie as soon as she says it.
The Snow Queen arches her brows. Slowly she pulls Kai’s muscle shirt up to her neck, twisting it into the collar to leave her nipples and hard abs exposed. Kai jerks a little with the instinctive desire to cover herself. Everyone has stopped to watch them.
“So you’re one of us,” says the Snow Queen. “How nice.” Circling Kai, she touches her nipples, the base of her spine, until Kai’s muscles jump beneath her fingertip.
A predatory smile spreads across the Queen’s face. She’s always had a taste for boyish girls, butches with insolent attitudes and cocky grins, but this specimen puts her former pets to shame. Everything about this one, from her chiseled sun-browned torso to her bluish green eyes, is mouthwatering. Tonight she has her dream butch in her hands.
