by Locket, V.
I forced my dick down her throat. She chocked on it, but still kept her mouth open, trying not to gag. Her eyes watered. Tears mixed with precum and her saliva, spilling out of her mouth and down her chin. I tried to ignore it—the confused, convoluted feelings within me—and allowed myself to give into the darkness that was always there, beneath. I began to fuck her face.
***
Gretel
I KEPT COUGHING, or rather tried to cough, but his length was always there, blocking my throat. How could I still breathe? That long, hard thing between his legs kept going in and out. I tried to run my tongue over it like he told me to. I tried to keep my lips firmly around it. But it stretched my throat. The backs of my eyes burned almost as much as my cheeks and lips. It was so difficult to keep my lips around his length like a ring.
The back of my head stung as he fisted my hair, forcing my head back and forth over him. The balls beneath his length bounced on my chin, and his musk smeared over my bottom lip. All of him tasted salty, like sweat-soaked skin. Soon, all I could do was just keep my mouth open as he thrusted back and forth, his hands on either side of my face.
Then, he pulled out and pushed me onto the floor.
“On your hands and knees,” he demanded.
I stared at him, my throat so sore. It was hard for me to process what he was saying—
“Now.” He grabbed my hair and pushed my face down into the floor. “On all fours, like a bitch.”
I whimpered like a bitch as I did as I was told. The floorboards creaked as he knelt behind me. His hands moved up the backs of my thighs. They were wet. No, that’s me, I realized. I was wet, for some reason, and that ache that had taunted me when I ventured into his room returned. It spread throughout my body, making my limbs, my stomach, and my private place sore—so sore that they throbbed with heat. When I felt his breath against my skin, it felt like ice.
“You remember what I’m going to do now, don’t you?”
I moaned as he pushed a finger into me.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he taunted, pinching me as he slide his finger back and forth into my private place. It felt strange to be that open, to have him look at me—to know everything about me. My body was an instrument for him to play, and he knew how to play it better than I did, even though it was my own. It was as if even my most shameful, secret pleasures belonged to him.
“I remember,” I whimpered. That pain that had shattered me. That pain that had haunted me, keeping me awake with a fear and longing I didn’t understand. The pain only my beloved Hansel could give me.
“Do you know what this place is?” He pushed his fingers further into my forbidden place. He bent his finger, making it hit the side of me. I almost passed out from pleasure.
“This is your cunt.” His voice was raspy. Quiet.
My cunt, I thought, squeezing around him. The word had a harsh sort of beauty. Now I had a name for my weakness and my pleasure.
“I’m going to fuck your cunt.” He whispered those words in the same way he’d whispered where mom had hidden the cookie jar when we were kids. I cried as he ran his length between my legs, allowing it to slip up and down my forbidden area—no, my cunt.
“Do you know what this is called?
“No,” I moaned.
“This is my cock, and I’m going to fuck your cunt with it, just like how I fucked your face. Just like how I fucked you in the church.”
I shivered, remembering the feel of him moving in and out of me. He placed that thing at my entrance—his cock on my cunt. My brain seemed to hum as I repeated the new words, silently, in my mind. I didn’t dare say them. To say them seemed too bold. So I leaned back on my elbows, arching my back to him, preparing myself for his invasion. He was about to fuck me. About to break me. About to...
He slammed his cock deep into my cunt. I cried out, far too loud, and tried to leap forward but he grabbed my hips and held them still. I couldn’t escape. His fingers dug into my skin. They’d leave bruises, or more accurately, they’d deepen the bruises he’d given me earlier. I tried to roll my hips forward but he pushed my hips down, until my hipbones and tits were on the floor.
My stomach hit the cool wooden planks as I breathed, making it difficult to take in a deep breath. He got on his knees and spread apart his legs, which pushed my thighs apart until it felt like I’d split.
He inched in and out, probing my cunt with his cock. “God damn you’re wet and tight slut,” he groaned. “Such a good little whore for my cock.”
My heart leaped at his praise. I didn’t care how degrading it was—that I was on the floor, spread before him, and completely at his mercy. I was a good little whore for his cock.
He slowly pulled out of me, giving me time for my cunt to feel his entire length. I moaned as my hands curled into fists.
He laughed. “You like that, don’t you slut? If we were alone, I’d make you scream.” He fell over my back, then shoved his hand over my face. There was something in his hand—the handkerchief he’d discarded so he could fuck my face. He gagged me with it, and his lingering salty, desperate taste was replaced by dry cotton.
His palms spread over my ass, squeezing it as he held it to the ground so I couldn’t move my cunt. And then, he began to fuck me.
That’s right. That’s what this was called. Fucking. He was fucking me—or, more accurately, my cunt.
His fingers dug into my cheeks as I moaned. My face moved back and forth on the floor, irritating my skin and pushing the handkerchief further into my throat. I started to gag, just as I’d done when he fucked my face, but he didn’t notice. Even without it muffling my screams, I doubt he’d hear me because he was fucking so fast.
“Mom and dad are in the next room sleeping,” he murmured in my ear. “They’d be horrified to find out how much of a whore you are.”
He stopped for a moment, and just beneath his labored breathing I could hear my father snoring in the next room. My cunt squeezed him tighter.
“You like that, don’t you slut? You like being a dirty little whore?”
My torso quivered as his stubble brushed against the backs of my shoulders. I did like it. I liked that I was their good little girl, in the next room, quietly getting fucked. I liked that it was my stepbrother defiling the innocence they’d tried so hard to protect. I liked that he’d already taken it, and this evening at dinner, no one had known. And I liked the dark power I held over him. I liked the pain he gave me—the soreness of my hips, the crushing weight on my bones, the aching within my cunt. I liked it because I deserved it for tempting him—for wanting to tempt him. Yes, I wanted to drag him down, deeper into this sin, so that I could take more pleasure from it. Perhaps I’d tried to be good for so long because I knew that I was bad.
“You’re my whore. Tomorrow, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you’ll see the marks I’ve left on your skin, and the more you try to hide them from the rest of the world, the more aware of them you’ll become. Your body is mine now.”
I squeezed his cock harder. I wanted to wrap my entire body around him as tight as I could, because I knew he liked it best when his little whore was tight for his cock. That’s what made him want to fuck me hardest.
He slammed into me, pushing my body into the floor. My rib cage was on fire. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel anything but the weight of him, crushing me, and the length of his cock, as he rhythmically fucked my little cunt.
“Do you want to be mine?” He asked, voice strained and short.
“Yes,” I moaned into the handkerchief. I wondered if he could hear me. And darker, secret words rose within me—words I didn’t have the strength to say and wouldn’t dare say even if I did. Yes. I want to be yours. I love you, forever and always. I will accept this pain and turn it into pleasure.
***
Hansel
EARLIER THAT DAY, I’d fucked her on God’s altar. I’d taken her as if she were a seasoned whore instead of a virgin. I’d used her body until it was raw. But wh
en she was on the floor in my room, I didn’t even treat her with that much respect. I knew she was new—that this was only her second time—and yet I didn’t hear the pleas of my rational mind telling me to stop. I held her lips still as I mounted her from behind, rutting like an animal.
Her legs strained against me, continued to strain even more as I pushed her down, forcing her to pull even tighter around my cock. One cheek faced me, the other was on the floor, but I could still tell her face was flushed. The makeshift gag spilled out between her red lips. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tried to keep them open so she could look at me.
God, she was beautiful. My body shook as I took her sweet, soft body. I didn’t deserve her. I felt like a thief, stealing her from her parents, forcing her to give me what she should never give to anyone. She possessed that kind of ethereal beauty that made men uncomfortable, as if they couldn’t ever touch her. Even when I was inside her I felt that way, like she was always above me. Beyond me.
It made me fuck her harder. I grabbed her, as if my hands could chain her to this room. As if I could keep her with me always in secret—the elegant swell of her hips, her tiny waist, her long, curly hair that looked silver in the moonlight.
I murmured in her ear, not lover’s words, but the words of a starved, raving madman. Words of possession and darkness. Words of obsession. That she was mine in our house, even as her parents slept in the next room—that I could have her at any time I wanted—that she would always belong to me. Words of delusion. Words of longing. Words that would never be true, so they haunted me.
I hated saying them. I didn’t want this obsession. Desire merged with the fear that we would be discovered. I didn’t want a forbidden affair. I wanted to have her as my wife, not this gasping, crying, straining girl beneath me, trying to please me so much at her own expense.
Is this really what my love had come to? Did I even dare call it love? A part of me liked her as my crying whore, and all of me did not care if she was bound to me by fear, or pain, or shame, as long as she was bound to me.
Her ankles entwined themselves around my calves as I held her down, on the floor. You really should leave, I thought as I pulled back her hair. Her tears had washed away most of my precum. I leaned down to kiss her, but instead bit her neck. I felt her heartbeat pump against my tongue as I slammed into her. It beat faster than I could fuck, and sounded louder than the creaking floorboards.
“You’re mine,” I said, and in my heart, I said, I want you to be mine.
“You will always be mine.” Only for right now, tonight. After tonight, you’ll be gone.
I don’t want you to leave.
She gasped as I shuddered on top of her, spilling my seed into her cunt. My dick throbbed inside her as that almost-painful pleasure shot through my body. I collapsed on top of her, brushing aside the hair from her back, before resting my face in between her damp shoulder blades. I tried to imagine a time when I wouldn’t have to leave. But such a moment could not last forever, or not even for a moment longer.
I love you, I thought. “You should leave now.”
“I can’t move with you on top of me,” she replied softly.
I rolled off of her, onto my back. She propped herself on her elbows and looked down at me. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, over her face, obscuring her tears.
“Did you like that?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Yes,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
“Don’t lie to me.” I grabbed her arm, preventing her from standing up and leaving, the very thing I asked her to do.
“I did.” She trembled..
God, I hated myself. “You should stay away from me, Gretel.” I said her name to put distance between us. “I can’t be trusted around you.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I think you do.”
She looked at me and I let go. After a moment, she picked up her discarded nightgown and pulled it over her head. She paused at the door before leaving. “I didn’t hate it,” she whispered, then ran off down the hall, into the night. I didn’t trust myself to follow.
Chapter 4: Let Me Keep You
Gretel
ROSALIND AND I WALKED from our apple stand in the village to the fields. We were going to watch the boys work, she said. We were going to bring them lunch. She’d prepared two sets of sandwiches, fruits and vegetables. One sack was for me to give to Otto. The other was for her to give to Hansel.
“I didn’t know you were so close to Hansel,” I said.
She blushed. “Well, I have a fondness for him, you know. We spent some time together this summer.”
I gripped Otto’s basket. What was wrong with me? Why was my body doing this? But though I didn’t want to think about it I knew the answer, so I squeezed the basket to my body, trying to banish the question. Had she been with Hansel? Was she is little whore? Did he touch her like he’d touched me? Did he own her, like he owned me?
We walked in silence for a few moments. I noticed her small smile, the way she didn’t seem to notice the wind blowing dust in her face, the joy in her eyes. For the first time, I hated my friend’s happiness. I didn’t want her to have it—not if it was about Hansel.
“We’re almost there.” She couldn’t contain her excitement. I nodded absently, and looked ahead.
Hansel and Otto were gathering wheat together. They moved the sickle back and forth, their muscles glistening in the sun. From behind, if you ignored their difference in height, they almost looked like brothers. Both had the same dark hair. I wondered if Rosalind would be able know that it was Hansel from behind regardless of who was around him. I always could. My body always recognized him—was always drawn to him. Even before yesterday’s events, I’d always been close to him. Perhaps, too close.
Rosalind ran ahead, and her bonnet fell, letting lose her red hair. It was such a pretty color—the color of apples. I wondered if Hansel liked it. I wondered if he ran his fingers through it, if he grabbed it as he fucked her face.
No, I couldn’t think like that. My heart hammered in my chest. I was going insane. I had no proof that they had done those things together. It was just my wild imagination. Still, even if they hadn’t done anything, it didn’t matter. She could run up to him like that. She could fall into his arms, and no one would say anything. If I did those things, there would be talk of me being too close to my stepbrother. It wasn’t fair. I wanted to be able to be as free and open at my feelings for him as she was.
“Hansel!” She cried out. She set down her basket and jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. Hansel stumbled forward a few steps, then turned and caught her in his arms. He smiled briefly, said her name, and then he looked up and saw me.
His face went cold, but Rosalind didn’t notice. She continued to chatter about something energetically as she turned and picked up the basket and handed it to him.
His eyes were still on mine. I froze, and for a moment it felt like the two of us had stepped outside of time—that we were alone together, but still separated. Why did his gaze fill me with longing and sadness? Why did he look so sad?
“Gretel,” a low, masculine voice to my left called out.
I looked at Otto. He was handsome, in a familiar way, with strong cheekbones and a wide mouth. Girls talked about that mouth a lot and what it could do, or might be able to do. I always loved his eyes—dark brown and kind—just like Hansel’s.
“Hi Otto.” I glanced over at Hansel and took a deep breath. “I brought you lunch.”
Hansel’s grip on the basket looked so tight that it would break it.
“Thank you, Gretel,” Otto replied softly, taking it from me. “It smells wonderful.”
“Actually, Rosalind made it.” I looked down at the dirt. Both Hansel and Otto were looking at me, and my cheeks felt so hot.
Otto touched my arm. “Well, thank you for bringing it to me.”
I heard commotion from Hansel’s direction. “Come on,” he grumbl
ed, and Rosalind yelped. I looked up just in time to see her being dragged off near the grove on the edge of the field. She looked behind and gave me a wink before disappearing with him.
My muscles grew taut. I wanted to run after them, but what would that solve? If I did, there would be talk. I shouldn’t be so impulsive. What was wrong with me?
Otto sat down next to me on a bail of hay. “Did you bring anything for yourself?”
I worked my jaw and shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak yet.
“You can have some of mine, if you want.” He reached to his side and pulled a basket of rolls, cheese and salami out.
I felt so bad when I looked at the hot ham and butter sandwich Rosalind had made him. “You know, I can eat that one and you can eat this one, if you want.”
“No, this is perfect.” Otto smiled. “Thank you so much for giving it to me.”
It really didn’t seem like that much. I wanted to tell him, but the thought of saying it again made me uncomfortable, because I knew that he would tell me it was just what he wanted with that little smile of his, and I didn’t know how to respond to that.
I glanced at the grove where Hansel and Rosalind had disappeared. What were they doing in there? Were they...no, I couldn’t think about that. I fisted my dress.
“Is something bothering you, Gretel?”
That’s right. I was here with Otto. I’d almost forgotten.
I glanced at the woods again. This was driving me crazy. I had to know but...No, I couldn’t bring it up here, with him. But could I afford not to? Hansel and Rosalind, they were out there, doing...
“Otto, may I ask you something?” I began slowly.
He was silent a moment, studying me probably. I think I was scaring him. I was scaring myself. “Of course Gretel. You can tell me anything.”
“Hansel and Rosalind. Are they—is she...” My chest was heaving. My vision was blurring. The heat suddenly felt unbearable on the back of my neck. My dress clung to my damp skin, and beneath it, my body itched and burned.
