Hans and Greta (a femcan fairytale)

Hey dudes,

Here's a modernized femcan spin I wrote on "Hansel and Gretel," that classic fairy tale which made quite an impression on many a budding femcan fan (as Hansel44 could tell you!)

Enjoy!

HANS AND GRETA
by Todd Salt

ONCE upon a time, deep within the great forests of Germany, dwelt a widowed mother and her two children. The boy was called Hans and the girl, Greta. They were twins, blessed from birth with tremendous beauty and born of the same tall, trim build with fair skin and hair of gold, like their mother.

In fact, they were both so hot that throughout high school they had to put up with a lot of jokes and rumors about incest from their classmates about incest. Oh, it was true that the brother and sister had stolen a few glances at one another over the years, as Hans put on muscles and Greta’s body developed. But despite Europe’s open-minded laissez-faire attitudes about sexuality, they still managed to respect the incest taboo.

The twins shared a single dream: to escape their idyllic (but dull) lives in the Bavarian countryside and one day move to America, where they would become high fashion runway models. They believed their chances were good, for in addition to having well-sculpted young bodies they also had angular, symmetrical faces. After coming home from school they’d practice posing in the mirror for hours to perfect their most bland and affectless expressions possible.

Their mother, Monika, enthusiastically supported her children’s dreams and shortly after their 18th birthday, revealed she had a surprise for them:

“My children, I have a friend who lives in America. She’s an art dealer in Los Angeles, who owns a house in the Hollywood Hills. She’s very wealthy and wise. If you go there, she will let you stay in her home and help you get your careers started!”

The sexy teens were overjoyed by this news, and began daydreaming constantly about how they’d soon have glamorous new lives as European fashion models living in LA.

Later that week, Hans was packing his travel bag when he overheard his mother on the phone downstairs:

“Yes, Wendy, the kids are going to be so happy to meet you!…What?…No, Hans has been keeping himself in very good shape. There’s not an ounce of fat on him!”

Beaming with pride, Hans unconsciously stood up a little straighter. He was sure that his lean build would be quite the asset for him in the modeling world.

“And Greta? Yes, she’s kept herself in very good shape as well. I know you two will get on famously. She’s going to have quite the career ahead of her. I know you have so much to teach her.”

Hans smiled, and returned to packing his luggage for the journey. He was so excited to meet this Wendy woman!

The two siblings were seen off by their mother the next morning at the train station. She gave them each a peck on the cheek. They were nervous, but happy.

“I hope we can make it to your friend’s house safely after our plane lands, mother” said Greta. “I’ve heard there’s a lot of crime in America.”

“Don’t worry, sis” said Hans. “I promise I’ll protect you.”

———

After a gruelingly long flight, Hans and Greta arrived in LA. They took an airport taxi to the Hollywood Hills, setting out to find the home of Wendy, their mother’s friend.

Worried about running out of money, they had foolishly allowed the driver to drop them off some ways from Wendy’s address. With only one travel bag each, they told themselves it would be good exercise to walk the rest of the way after being cooped up in the plane for so long.

But they sorely underestimated the city’s hostility to pedestrians, especially in this uphill, upscale neighborhood. Very soon the twins were huffing and puffing along the steep roads and their clothes were soaked with sweat.

Adding to this misfortune, they did not have their cell phone service set up in America yet, and so were forced to follow directions to the old-fashioned way: from notes jotted on a piece of paper.

This might have worked fine, if only Hans had not forgotten that important piece of paper in the taxi cab that was now long gone.

Tensions ran higher when Greta recognized some of the same houses, and realized that they’d wound their way around into a circle. Frustrations became worse when their stomaches reminded them that neither sibling had eaten anything since their flight.

Hans had but a half-eaten bagel left in his bag, and feebly suggested using it to leave a trail of breadcrumbs along the street to mark their path. Greta rolled her eyes at this idiocy, and told him to hand over the bagel, which she hungrily devoured.

At last, to their great relief, Hans and Greta found the correct house. They were just in time, for the sun was setting in the smog-hazed sky and enveloping the hills in darkness.

It was a two-story home, with highly eccentric architecture that might have best belonged in a carnival. For it looked as though it were constructed from bread and covered in candy, down to its windows that seemed frosted with sugar.

The twins, almost delirious from lack of food after their long walk, were instantly entranced by the sight of this house. Approaching it, they instinctively ran their hands along the exterior as if to verify that the dwelling were not actually made of food. Such a thing was impossible; it must be their weary, hungry minds playing tricks on them…

A woman’s voice startled the twins:

“Who’s that picking at my house?”

Hans and Greta saw her standing outside, on the house’s front porch. They hadn’t even heard the door open. It was as though she’d just appeared out of thin air!

The woman was a mature beauty with pale porcelain skin, an hourglass figure and a long mane of wavy, raven-black hair (with just a few streaks of gray.)

Her posture was almost regal, and her arms were folded across her chest below her heavy set of breasts. She regarded Hans and Greta with an impish, black-lipsticked smile spread wide across her oval face.

Complimenting her black hair, the woman was dressed almost entirely in black: from the black mini-dress hugging her curves, to the sheer black thigh-high stockings revealing a flash of creamy thigh-flesh, to her gaudy wide-brimmed black hat.

The only part of her outfit that wasn’t black were a pair of red high-heeled shoes, covered in sequins that glittered in the evening twilight.

The twins were stunned. This peculiarly dressed woman had to be, of course, their mother’s friend Wendy, even if she seemed slightly too young for them to have grown up together.

It was also hard for them to believe that their mother, seemingly a typical German hausfrau by all outward appearances, might have been friends with such an eccentric at any point in her past.

Still it was best not to gawk at the woman who had so generously promised to take a couple of strangers in on good faith, as a favor to their mother.

They certainly wouldn’t comment on that big silly hat of hers. Los Angeles was full of free-spirited “creative types” with bizarre fashion affectations and they’d do well to get used to that, if they wanted to work among them.

“You must be Wendy!” said Greta, greeting her with open arms.

“Indeed I am!” she replied.

Greta was surprised to find that despite her and Hans’ height of 6 feet, this lady still had a couple of inches on her when they hugged.

Wendy embraced Hans next, not seeming to mind that both of were covered in sweat.

“Pleased to meet you too!” she said.

As they stepped back from each other, the boy caught the older woman’s eyes running up and down his sinewy form, taking stock of him.

Well, he thought, That IS to be expected. I am a handsome young man, and she no doubt makes herself available to handsome young men, being an old maid with some money. I wonder if she’ll expect me to sleep with her during our stay here, in exchange for her hospitality?

Hans allowed his own eyes to go wandering around Wendy’s tall, voluptuous figure. She certainly kept herself in great shape, and he was quite drawn to her long legs, clad in silky stockings and so gracefully balanced on those dainty little feet that arched perfectly in her sparkly red high heels.

He wondered if her toenails were painted black, to match her long black fingernails? And he wondered what those long fingernails might feel like, raking across his broad back while he pinned her down.

Of course we’d have to keep it secret from mother! But it wouldn’t be so bad. She’s quite beautiful, for an older woman!

Greta frowned as she observed how her brother and her mother’s friend ogled each other. She’d been afraid of this, knowing her brother had a fancy for older women and sometimes took advantage of lonely housewives in their village back home. If he were to sleep with their mother’s friend before they found a place of their own, it could seriously complicate matters.

“Wendy” she said, interrupting their lustful silent appraisals. “If I may call you that? Uh, how did you know we were here already? We didn’t even ring your doorbell.”

The oddly striking woman laughed, and waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, I smelled you coming” she said. “I’ve got a nose like a wolf!”

Greta blushed, knowing that she and her brother had been perspiring a lot during their trek to find Wendy’s house.

“And just look at you two!” their hostess continued. “No wonder Monika encouraged you to come here. You’re both soooooooo gorgeous! I’ll bet you land your first modeling contract by the end of this week!”

She pinched Hans’ cheek between her fingers, as if he were a little boy.

“I could just eat you up!”

Then she turned to Greta, and winked.

“And you look like a dainty mouthful too, dearie.”

Greta raised an eyebrow. Maybe this good-faith favor to her mother had an unsavory ulterior motive…

“I can’t believe you’re a friend of our mother’s!” grinned Hans. “You look so young!”

Fabulous, Greta thought to herself sarcastically. He’s already flirting with her!

“Oh, no” laughed Wendy, shaking her head. “Me, I’m as old as the hills.”

“The Hollywood Hills?” asked Hans.

Greta and Wendy’s eye met, and after a moment’s silence they shared a discrete snicker.

“It’s a good thing he’s a looker!” whispered Wendy, so quietly that Greta didn’t even see the woman’s black lips moving.

The young girl giggled. Perhaps she would like this woman, if she could just maintain a respectful distance from her brother…and maybe herself, as well.

“I’m glad we found your place when we did,” continued Hans. “I was worried there might be some weirdos crawling around this part of LA. You know, killer hippies and so on.”

“Killer hippies!” laughed Wendy.

“Just something my brother saw in an American movie” explained Greta.

He really is dumb, she thought, looking at Wendy.

And then, an extraordinary thing happened.

As Wendy looked back at her, Greta heard the woman’s voice. Only this time, her lips definitely weren’t moving. And yet she still heard the woman’s voice inside her head, clear as a bell!

Dumb, said Wendy, But quite the tasty looking morsel, eh dearie?

Greta’s jaw dropped. She was about to ask what had just happened…Had she accidentally spoken her thoughts out loud? How had Wendy managed to throw her voice like that?…when Wendy returned her attention to Hans.

“Oh, you saw it in a movie!” she said. “Well, that explains it. Children, you mustn’t believe everything you see in films. There are plenty of weirdos wandering about this city, but I assure you that these hills are very exclusive and safe. No harm shall come to you here. But as it is getting dark, and you must be tired…please, dears! Come inside, come inside!”

Wendy pushed open the heavy wooden front door, although to Greta it almost seemed as though the woman merely waved it open.

Watching the two siblings enter her home, she waited until they’d passed by before licking her lips in giddy anticipation.

“I’ll take good care of you” she chuckled to herself.

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Once inside Wendy’s lavish house, Hans and Greta were immediately awestruck by the impressive array of priceless antiques that furnished her parlor.

A giant oriental carpet covering the floor. Set on top of it were a Victorian-style chaise lounge, several rococo chairs and in one corner of the room, a magnificent grand piano that could have belonged to Beethoven himself. Hanging from the ceiling was a huge chandelier, that twinkled in the light with real crystal.

Greta knew it was one thing to live in the Hollywood Hills, but being surrounded by such luxury meant Wendy was truly wealthy. Perhaps she’d come from old money?

And if that were the case, it still begged the question…How did their mother, a widower of humble means living six thousand miles away in Europe, ever come to know such a woman?

She looked at Hans, and saw that instead of staring at the expensive old furniture, he was observing a section of wall where several oil paintings had been hung.

Greta gasped.

This art was not exactly what one would expect from such sophisticated surroundings.

Oh, the work itself was excellent. Expertly rendered compositions with rich colors, evocative use of light, and masterful understanding of perspective and human anatomy.

But their subject matter…!

The first one to catch her eye must have been a couple hundred years old. It depicted some kind of powdered and wigged noblewoman, a stately duchess (perhaps the infamous Countess Bathory?) seated at a dinner table, with knife and fork in hand.

And the meal on her plate? It was a tiny man, naked as a baby and small as a rabbit!

Greta blinked in bewilderment at this bizarre artwork, then looked at another painting to its right.

This one was probably from the same era, and showed an outdoor hut located in some kind of deep, lush jungle from the Congo of Africa. Standing in it was a pretty native woman, with skin black as night. She was only wearing a grass skirt, and her full round breasts were exposed shamelessly under the glaring tropical sun.

She held a curved blade high over her head, and was happily chopping up the meat of some animal whose cuts were piled up or hanging from hooks in the primitive butcher’s shop.

Greta spotted a human head among those piles, and also noticed some of those “cuts” were human arms and legs. A pile of clerical clothing told the tale; this had recently been some unfortunate white missionary who’d failed to proselytize the savages.

Despite the horror of the scene, Greta allowed herself a smirk at this. She was proud to consider herself a supporter of decolonization, and couldn’t feel too sorry for the man.

The third and final painting looked to be the work of the same artist as the other two, and it was pure Brueghelian pandemonium: a large gathering of young women around Greta’s own age, encircled around a roaring fire in the darkness of night, cavorting and dancing orgiastically like she-demons in the flames of hell.

There was little surprise in seeing that over this bonfire was a naked man, skewered from his rear end through his mouth by an iron pole and being roasted like a human kebab.

The grotesque nature of this didn’t bother Greta so much. She was more transfixed by the artistry that had gone into the illustration, for under skilled hands, such a nightmarish vision looked…well, she’d hesitate to say pretty, but it did hold a certain evocative power. Something about the use of color and texture actually made that man on the skewer almost look…appetizing.

Before she could question her own thoughts or those curious new feelings the painting was stirring up in her, Greta was distracted by a smaller detail within it:

Why were some of these cavorting cannibal girls holding cell phones?

Just then, she felt Wendy’s presence materialize behind her and Hans, and she stared down at them from between their shoulders.

“Admiring my little art collection?”

Greta shook herself out of the trance. How long had she and Hans been standing here, lost in thought as they gazed upon this gruesome gallery?

“Oh, uh yes” answered Greta. “They’re very, um, striking!”

“I actually know this artist personally” boasted Wendy. “I’ve even sold some of her pieces and arranged a few private gallery showings for her. She’s tremendously talented, don’t you think?”

“Yes” agreed Greta. “Although, I - I did think they must have been older works, at least until I noticed those phones in this last one! Your home seems to have so many other beautiful old things. Like a treasure trove!”

“Thank you” she said. “I just hope you don’t count me as one of those ‘old things’! I do like to consider myself a woman of fine tastes, though. Isn’t that what’s best in life? The cultivation of a refined palate?”

Hans narrowed his eyes at the paintings.

“It is pretty gross stuff though, isn’t it? All those men being eaten? They’re like scenes out of horror films.”

Greta shot him a glare, but Wendy didn’t seem to mind the boy’s insolence.

“Don’t forget you’re in Hollywood, my dear. This is a very open-minded town, when it comes to such avant-garde aesthetics. I recall that your mother was a similarly free-spirited, ah, consumer of unusual tastes, many years ago.”

“Mother would faint, if she saw such paintings as these!” laughed Hans. “And by the way, how is it that you look so much younger than our mother? If you grew up together, I mean? Just how old are you, anyhow?”

“Hans!!!” hissed Greta.

But once again, Wendy took the boy’s lack of social propriety in stride.

“Let’s just say it’s a number that begins with six” she smiled.

The twins were dumbfounded by this admission. Their mother Monika was just over 40, and this woman didn’t even look like she was nearing her 60s yet.

Wendy giggled at the disbelief on their faces.

“You must think me quite the old hag, eh? Especially in this youth-oriented culture of ours. Well, there are magic workers in this town when it comes to staying vibrant.”

So that was it, thought Greta. Plastic surgery. She could certainly afford it, judging by all this expensive décor!

The twins felt Wendy’s hands clasp their shoulders. Her long, slender fingers were more bony and claw-like than they looked, but her voice was smooth as honey.

“Have a seat, children, and let me get you something to eat. You must be famished!”

“Oh, yes!” cried Hans.

“That would be lovely, we’re starving!” agreed Greta.

The strangeness of their hostess and her house had been so distracting, they’d temporarily forgotten how hungry they were. But now they both felt the emptiness of their stomachs, and sharply.

Hans and Greta turned away from the gallery wall and found places to sit down. Greta chose a plush velvet chair, and Hans a wicker recliner. It felt good to finally be off their tired, weary feet.

Relaxing into her seat, Greta watched Wendy as she sauntered out the room. Without looking, she knew that Hans was watching her closely too, especially the rolling sway of her hips.

Wendy moved so elegantly that she almost seemed to glide above the floor, rather than walk. Greta couldn’t even hear the click of her heels. She frowned, suddenly feeling clumsy and uncouth by comparison to a woman of such high class like Wendy.

Could I ever learn to carry myself so gracefully?

She also had to admire the woman’s fashion sense. Surely on anyone else, such a big black hat would look absurd, especially being worn indoors! But somehow, on her, it looked just right.

“Hey” she heard her brother say. “Look at these.”

Hans had found a small stack of photographs left out on a side table, and Greta leaned over to look as he flipped through them like a deck of cards.

They were all photos of them. Starting from their baby pictures and going through primary school, all the way up through the years to their current young adulthood.

“I guess mother must have mailed these over to her” remarked Hans.

“Yes” said Greta.

My brother, she thought. Master of the obvious, as always. I only hope he doesn’t embarrass me any further during our stay, or Wendy might think twice about helping us, friend of our mother or not.

“Can you believe that artwork she has?” asked Hans. “Why are rich people willing to pay thousands for such disgusting things?”

“Keep your voice down” said Greta. “It’s because rich people are willing to buy such things that she has this house to let us stay in.”

“But why you think she has art like that?”

Greta rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe because she likes it?”

“Well I think it’s nasty” her brother griped. “Just some sick shit for old rich perverts to get off on.”

“I kind of like it…” said Greta quietly.

Hans didn’t hear her, and continued.

“Do you really think she can help us break into modeling? What does the art world have to do with the modeling world, anyhow?”

“Important people know each other” answered Greta.

She looked back at the kitchen doorway just as Wendy reappeared through it, carrying two plates over to the brother and sister.

Atop her left hand was a charming, artisanal little candied gingerbread house, which she handed to Hans. It seemed to have been modeled on her own house, in miniature.

And in her right hand, a smaller plate holding a freshly baked pie with fluffy, flaky crust, and a little fork beside it.

Hans and Greta looked at their different foods, then at each other, and then back up at Wendy.

“A sweet treat for the growing boy” she said, in a perfect Bavarian dialect of German. Then added, “I baked it just this afternoon, along with this savory meat pie for the young lady.”

The brother and sister’s mouths fell open, and Wendy grinned.

“I’ve learned many languages in my time” she explained, then switched back to English: “But you’ll need to practice your new language, if you’re going to make it in America.”

“You’re certainly full of surprises!” laughed Hans.

“You have no idea!” laughed Wendy.

Neither sibling said another word, as they eagerly tucked into their respective food.

Hans didn’t even care why he’d been served desert first, rather than the more substantial meal his sister received. He was just too hungry. And at that moment, the sugary little gingerbread house on the plate in front of him tasted better than anything else he could even think to request.

Greta took the fork from her plate, and fought the urge to shovel the entire meat pie into her mouth. It smelled so delicious, like some kind of minced pork, and she was so very hungry. But still, she managed to make herself chew and swallow each bite with some respect to ladylike manners. First impressions were so important, and it wouldn’t do to come off as some kind of, well, pig in front of their hostess and benefactor.

She glanced up at Wendy, who had a funny smile as she sat and watched the twins eat.

Chewing her food, Greta glanced over at Hans - and was shocked to see that he’d already eaten the entire confection, seemingly in mere seconds…!

But before she could comment, Wendy was already on top of the situation.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “My my, done so soon, Hans? What a greedy little piggy you are! Well, my confections can be highly addictive. Shall I get you another?”

“Yes, yes!” he replied, nodding his head eagerly like a child and sounding almost desperate.

The gracious woman took his plate, smiling sweetly.

“And how is your pie, Greta dear?”

“Wunderbar” grinned Greta.

Wendy laughed, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Hans reclined in his seat, stared up at the ceiling chandelier and belched.

Greta returned her focus to the meat pie, allowing herself to eat more sloppily now that Wendy was in the next room.

“I wonder why she gave you a pie” her brother said, “And me that gingerbread house…?”

Perhaps it’s because she’s sweet on you, thought Greta.

She was about to say as much, but a strange feeling cut her words short when she looked up at her brother. Gazing at Hans, the young girl got the distinct sense that something had just changed, either within her brother or herself. Maybe both?

All of a sudden, he seemed to have put on a bit of weight. This was impossible, of course, no matter how rich a single gingerbread house could be.

Why, then, did his normally well-chiseled face appear to have put on some extra fat?

Because it’s been a long day, thought Greta, And my mind is playing tricks on me.

But as she ate the last few bits of meat pie, she continued studying her brother.

He almost looks a little better with some meat on his bones, she considered. The ultra-thin look isn’t so important for models anymore, besides. Guess I can understand what Wendy saw in him…

Greta swallowed the final bite of mince pie in her mouth. Her tummy rumbled, still unsatisfied.

What was it Wendy said to him outside? That he looked good enough to EAT…?

Maybe it was just her pent-up hunger, or the cannibal-themed art on the wall, or Wendy’s words echoing in her head…“I could just eat you up”…But Greta was now suddenly struck with the crazy, yet uncannily vivid notion that it might be a very satisfying experience to…

…Eat her brother, like that savory meat pie she’d just finished. To have him chopped up, like the cannibal African woman chopped up that missionary. To have him roasted over a fire, like that human kebab at the ladies’ cannibal party. To have his succulent cuts laid upon a plate, like that tiny man about to be eaten by a cannibal aristocrat.

Greta squeezed her eyes shut.

Why was she thinking such ridiculous things?

She wasn’t normally subject to such perverse flights of fantasy. It must be the changes in my environment, she reasoned. We’ve crossed over several time zones in the past 24 hours. We’re just in a disoriented state, from running on empty stomachs for so long. We’re just a long way from home, and in a very strange place…

“Greta?”

She looked up and saw Wendy crooking an inviting finger in her direction, from the kitchen doorway.

“Would you come in here please,” she asked, “So I can talk to you in private for a moment?”

Greta turned to Hans, assuming he’d object to being so rudely excluded for seemingly no reason.

No, her brother was completely zoned out as he laid back in his wicker recliner. He hadn’t even heard Wendy’s invitation.

She nodded silently at Wendy, then set her plate and fork down on a nearby table and stood up.

But just as soon as she was on her feet, Greta nearly wobbled over as if she’d just drank too many beers.

This heavy food must have made us woozy, she told herself, After being hungry for so many hours.

Wendy disappeared back into the kitchen and Greta stumbled along, almost tripping over as she navigated her way around the living room furniture.

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The kitchen was old but immaculately clean, right down to its classic black-and-white checkered tile floor. There was a double-wide sink, extensive cupboards and a full set of pots and pans hanging from hooks underneath them.

The centerpiece of the room, however, was the industrial-sized oven with a giant glass door built right into the stone wall opposite from the entrance.

Greta walked in and saw Wendy taking off her black hat, setting it atop her tall white extra-large refrigerator.

“Oh, what a lovely kitchen!” said Greta, as Wendy shook the long ripples of her black hair loose. “Now, what was it you wanted to…?”

Her question was interrupted as Wendy grabbed her narrow waist and pulled her close, squashing her heavy natural jugs against Greta’s small, pert tits. The older woman’s form-hugging black minidress was so tight and thin that her body felt practically naked.

Wendy tilted her head and moved in for a deep, sensual kiss, parting her black lips and probing the young girl’s mouth with her silky tongue.

Greta, startled, resisted at first. She wasn’t expecting such an advance, at least not yet, as she assumed that Wendy was mainly attracted to her brother.

She had kissed a few girls in the past herself, experimenting with her schoolgirl chums over the years and making a show of it at parties for the attention of boys she liked. But none of those kisses had ever felt anything like this!

The tighter Wendy held Greta, and the more saliva they exchanged, the more the young girl found her defenses breaking down. She was becoming intoxicated by the taste of Wendy’s mouth, and as she submitted to the mature woman’s dominant embrace she felt herself getting wet.

Then the kiss was broken, and Wendy pulled herself away from Greta while still holding her body close, and gazing deeply into her eyes.

“Girls are fun to play with” she said in a hushed, mischievous tone. “But only the taste of BOYS can satisfy my hunger!”

Feeling a bit of better sense prevailing, Greta gently but firmly pushed herself away from Wendy.

“Uh, I think perhaps I’d better…We…We’d better go,” she said meekly, casting her eyes down at the checkered kitchen floor.

This was bad, very bad. Clearly, their mother’s old friend had only offered to put her and Hans up at her home because she’d planned to seduce them both. Just another crazy Hollywood pervert, looking to take advantage of young people hoping to break into the big time.

Greta didn’t blame her mother for not seeing through what now seemed like such an obvious ploy. Wendy was her old friend, and one wanted to trust their friends. It would be hard to tell her what had happened here, on her children’s first day in America…

She felt ashamed at her own naiveté. Her brother wasn’t very bright, and her mother only meant well, so it should have fallen to her to be sensible about this situation. Certainly, she should have been on her guard when Wendy started flirting with Hans before they’d even entered her home.

But there was no time to dwell on this. Right now, she and Hans had to get out of this place and start looking for a cheap motel, or at least a youth hostel…

“Look at me.”

Without thinking, Greta did as she was told. She looked up and saw that Wendy’s eyes were glittering darkly.

Her voice sounded a lot different. Not exactly louder, but…more powerful.

In fact, it seemed the older woman’s entire aura was transforming, and the kitchen seemed to fade from view around her. Greta felt like she was standing in an empty void, with only Wendy at the center of her universe.

“Your brother said I looked good for my age” she continued, in that new rumbling voice that reverberated inside Greta’s head and drowned out all other thoughts.

“Did you know I’m actually six hundred years old?”

“Wh-what?” stammered Greta.

“You heard me. I am six hundred years old, child. I have lived for many centuries.”

Ordinarily, Greta would have already turned her back on such mad ravings and been on her way out of the house, with her brother in tow.

But she couldn’t look away from Wendy’s hypnotic eyes, couldn’t stop listening to that voice…

“How?” she managed to ask.

“It is the gift of eternal life, TRUE eternal life, from the Evil One…”

“What are you talking about?”

“How would you like to be the most successful model in Los Angeles?”

Well, that got her attention.

The rational part of Greta’s mind still presumed to understand where Wendy was going with all of this; even with extra bass in her voice: if she and Hans agreed to sleep with the old woman, she’d help their careers. Simple as that, yes?

I’ll just let her make her proposition, thought Greta. Then I’ll tell her ‘no,’ and there won’t be any confusion about where things stand. Hans and I will leave and then neither of us will ever have to speak to this insane person again, let alone her babbling about being hundreds of years old or “The Evil One” or whatever…

“Okay, what do I have to do” she sighed.

“Help me eat your brother.”

That was a strange way to put it.

Why did Greta feel a little twinge in her stomach at those words? Not in a sexual sense, for she really never did feel any attraction to her own brother despite all the teasing of her classmates back home…

But when she heard the words eat your brother, her brain just interpreted them literally. If only for a second.

This truly had been a long day.

“Yes,” said Wendy. “I do mean eat him…Just like a juicy meat-pie!”

Greta felt her blood chill. Just like on the front porch, it seemed as though the woman was speaking without moving her lips. And this time, at this distance, there was no mistaking it.

Wendy smiled at her, and Greta heard an otherworldly voice…Wendy’s voice…inside her own head:

“He looks positively scrumptious, don’t you think?”

Greta gasped, and nearly choked.

“H-how…?” she croaked. “How are you…?”

“I’m a witch” she said matter-of-factly, continuing her telepathic transmission with a smile. “You must know that word, yes? ‘Eine hexe’…?

Eine hexe! thought Greta. No, no, NO!! Impossible!!! There wasn’t any such thing, COULDN’T be any such thing…Could there?

That was only the stuff of fairy tales, legends!

And yet, Greta knew, here she was. Talking to someone inside of her mind, who was reading her thoughts. She wished she could believe she’d been drugged, and was merely hallucinating. But she’d taken hallucinogens before, and this felt nothing like acid or DMT or anything like that…

No, this felt stone-cold real.

I’m in a witch’s kitchen, she thought, surprising herself at how quickly she adjusted to this new reality.

Wendy-the-witch reached out and stroked Greta’s blonde hair affectionately with her long fingers, then ran a pointy black fingernail along her jawline.

Those black lips of hers parted open on her wide, generous mouth and she spoke in a normal voice again, though there was nothing normal about what she had to say:

“The old country is here, child. And this is destiny. Your destiny. Tonight is the most important night of your life, my dear, it’s all been leading up to this! Join me. I’ll be your teacher. Your new life in this new world shall begin this very moment. Fame and fortune will be yours, of course, but there will be more, oh yes, so much more than you could ever imagine…”

And as the witch spoke, Greta could actually see those visions of success dancing before her eyes, like living, moving daydreams. She saw herself strutting down the runway, modeling the most high-end fashions in the world, attending only the most exclusive Hollywood parties and practically blinded in a barrage of flashing cameras…

“I’ll teach you the art of magic” the witch promised, “The art of witchcraft…a way of controlling your environment and the people around you, bending them to your will…how to cast spells, how to cloud minds…and how to stay young forever, just like me…”

Greta could see all of those things, too. She saw herself living well into future centuries, as mankind’s various empires rose and fell. A life of luxury, and beauty that never faded.

She and Hans hadn’t grown up in a religious household. Even as children they’d never taken things like prayer or faith seriously. None of those things had ever seemed real.

But this…this was real. This was power, that Greta could believe in, enough to put all her faith into…

“And” said Wendy, “You’ll get to feed on the forbidden fruit, the flesh of man…starting with your fool brother!!”

Greta licked her lips, tasting the remains of Wendy’s saliva. For all the enticing promises the old witch had just made, somehow that one sounded best of all.

Wendy smirked.

“Oh, you like the sound of that, don’t you, child?”

“Hans is a bit of a fool, and a dummy” Greta heard herself saying.

“He’d only get the way of all your future success” urged Wendy.

“Um…what would I have to do? How…involved would I have to be?”

The witch smiled.

“You don’t care that we’re speaking of eating your own brother…?”

“If that is what it takes to succeed as a model” said Greta, finding new courage as she made her declaration.

Then, added:

“I always knew that sacrifices must be made.”

The witch nodded. “Yes! Wise words! Very wise words, from such a young girl! Listen to me, then. First, before we can cook him, we must fatten him up…”

“Fatten him up!” cried Greta. “But that would take weeks!”

“Not at all” said the witch. “Come, let’s take another look at him.”

The kitchen came back into focus around Greta, as she and Wendy returned from whatever astral plane where they had been sharing their private chat.

Together they peered back out at the living room. Hans had dozed off, and was snoring peacefully on the couch.

But for a moment, Greta almost didn’t recognize him.

In what must have only been a few minutes, he had put on weight. A lot of weight.

Hans was now fat!

It was utterly impossible. And yet there he was. Chubby-cheeked, double-chinned and with a slight pot belly. By no means obese, and probably only slightly overweight by American standards, but it was still shocking to see her normally fit and healthy brother in such a state.

“Mein gott!” she whispered. “He’s become…He’s like a pig!”

“Yesssss!” the witch hissed gleefully. “Oink, oink!”

“Ja, ja!!” giggled Greta. “My own brother, a fat schwein!!”

“And soon to be a savory little schweinebraten” said the witch.

Greta became aware that the excitement she first felt between her legs, when the witch started kissing her, was fast heating up again as they giddily sized up Hans like a prize pig to be slaughtered.

“Was it…was it that food you fed us?” asked Greta.

“Such a smart girl! Yes, my special gingerbread houses will fatten up any foolish young boy, in no time at all.”

Remembering her meat pie, Greta looked up at Wendy with concern.

“What did you do to my food…?”

“Oh, that was only a meat pie” assured the witch. “No enchantments, I promise you. But! Would you care to guess what kind of meat you were eating?”

Greta’s eyes widened, followed by a widening grin of dawning realization.

“I thought it was delicious!” she said.

“Good, good!” said the witch. “Now then, come with me and we’ll bake some more special gingerbread houses for your brother, to plump him up! He’ll be asleep for a while longer, so in the meantime I’ll start showing you how I put spells on the food…spells that you can learn to use, too. There is so much for you to learn, my dear child.”

Wendy watched her new apprentice’s eyes light up with wicked delight.

“Oooh, that’s evil. Absolutely evil…I love it!!”

“Excellent! There’s just one small matter that needs our attention first…”

The witch motioned for Greta to follow her quietly. And she did, into another much larger room: a great library, filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves that were stacked to the brim with ancient hardcovers.

Wendy selected one of those books, a hideous old tome that looked to be bound in human flesh and inked in blood.

She opened it with both hands and showed Greta a list of names, with a red mark next to each one. At the bottom of this list of names was Greta’s own, with no mark beside it…yet.

“Do you wish to live deliciously?” the witch asked. “All you must do is make your mark here, next to your name. Sign over your name, and your eternal soul to your new master, the Prince of Darkness.”

“Sure, sure, sicherlich” said Greta. “Wo ist der Stift?”

“No pen. Give me your finger.”

Greta put her hand out and, fast as viper, Wendy jabbed at the young girl’s index finger with her own sharp black fingernail, drawing blood.

“Ouch!” cried Greta.

“Sorry. Messy, I know, but it’s the only thing that can bind you. Tradition and all that. So, quickly now! Don’t waste it! Sign, sign, sign!!”

She did, dabbing the blood from her finger onto the space next to her name.

Greta looked up at the witch without a shred of regret, her face beaming.

“What now?” she asked.

Wendy smiled back.

“Now? Now all you must do, is do as I say. We’re about to have some fun!”

(continued in next post)

(continued from previous post)

Hans stirred out of his sleep. He felt more sluggish, and heavy than normal. How long had he been asleep? The impact of that sugary gingerbread house, combined with jet lag and lack of sleep must have really done a number on him.

Seeing that neither Wendy nor his sister were in the room, he was about to pull himself up out of the wicker chair to find them when he saw a figure step out of the kitchen entryway.

It was Wendy. And she’d had a change of clothing that took Hans’ breath away!

She now displayed her sexy, mature body’s charms in a black lace bra, and frilly black panties.

Her sparkly red shoes had been swapped out for high heels of black patent leather. And her sheer black thigh-high stockings were now suspended onto a black garter belt wrapped around her wide hips.

Hans could only gawk stupidly as she looked down at him with a haughty sneer on her face, standing in an alluring, but dominant pose with both hands on her hips.

Did the old woman want to jump his bones so soon? He grinned, hoping his sister had already gone to bed…

But Wendy wasn’t smiling, and what happened next dashed any such hopes away, fast.

“Up!!” barked Wendy. “Come on! Get up, you lazy thing!!”

What happened next frightened Hans to the core of his being. He felt his entire body moving of its own accord; being commanded by Wendy’s firm order to get on his feet.

“Into my kitchen, piglet!!” she shouted, snapping her fingers. Her high heels pivoted as she spun around and walked back through the doorway.

And as Hans heard the tapping of Wendy’s heels along the kitchen floor, he felt his own legs moving automatically along the carpeted floor of her parlor!

Left foot, right foot, left, right, left, right…

He was being walked across the room, like a marionette on strings, helpless to do anything but obey his puppet master!! How was this possible?!?

Upon entering the kitchen, Hans was momentarily relieved to see Greta, but then immediately mortified.

His sister was also wearing the same black bra-and-panties set with high heels, stockings and garters!

And why was she pushing a broom?

Greta weeped softly as she swept the floor, before brushing her blonde hair aside to look up at her brother.

“Hans!” she cried.

“Silence, slave!!” shouted Wendy.

On the opposite side of the room from his sister, there was a tall, barred cage placed in a corner of Wendy’s kitchen.

Good lord, thought Hans, This woman is insane, and intends to hold us hostage! Maybe even torture and kill us! She must have put some kind of drugs in our food!!

But this could not explain how Wendy swung open that cage’s door with the wave of her hand.

Or how, with another wave of the hand, Hans felt himself levitating several inches off the ground and being carried through the air and into the cage, whose iron bars slammed shut behind him on their own.

No mind-controlling drug could do that, and he was scared to think what this implied…

When his feet were set back down on the floor, Hans grabbed the bars of his cage and angrily shook them. It was no use, of course. The cage was less than half the size of a toilet stall, with no room for Hans to do anything but stand in place.

“Greta!” he called out hopelessly to his sister, who regarded him with tearful eyes.

Wendy threw her head back and cackled, a sound that made Hans’ flesh crawl.

“Pitiful little piggy-boy!” she gloated. “You and your impudent little cunt of a sister are all mine, now! Neither of you shall ever leave my house again! What a fool your mother was, sending you to come here, when she didn’t know her old friend Wendy was really a witch!!”

Hans was baffled by her words.

Did this deranged old woman actually think she was a WITCH? A character out of some children’s storybook?

It would certainly explain, he thought with horror, How she carried me like a ragdoll into this cage, without even touching me…

Being of simple and child-like mind himself, Hans made no further attempts to rationalize this fantastical turn of events. He simply accepted the situation, in all its scary gravity.

Okay, he thought. She’s a witch…Witches are real! And now Greta and I are in a real witch’s kitchen, where no doubt she plans to EAT us! I’ve GOT to do something!!!

“Don’t worry, Greta!” he shouted at Greta. “I’ll get us out of here!!”

It was terrible how this witch had decided to humiliate his sister, by making her dress half-naked in those transparent black undergarments.

Though Hans did have to admit, she looked sensational in the getup. Despite the circumstances, of course, and despite being his own sister.

“Oh, Hans!” cried Greta, secretly thrilled at the sight of her brother caged up like an animal. This was so much fun! Almost like when they were children, playing tricks on each other. And this would be the greatest trick of all!

The witch waved her hand again, and Hans watched in horror as his clothing began to disintegrate before his very eyes, crumbling away onto the floor like cinder ashes which were scattered away by invisible winds, leaving him bare naked and exposed.

Greta covered her mouth and pointed at him, in a very convincing performance of astonishment.

“Oh, NO! Look at your BODY!” she screamed.

Staring down at himself, Hans was flabbergasted to discover that his normally well-sculpted frame, the body he’d worked on for years in anticipation of his modeling career, was now…flabby.

He shot an outraged look at Wendy, knowing in an instant that this terrible change could only be the work of black magic.

“You BITCH!!” he shouted. “What have you done to me?!”

“What does it look like, fool?” she snickered. “My special gingerbread house has started the process of making you nice and doughy for the cooking! I’m going to roast your cute little butt in my oven, sweet cheeks!”

Hans looked to his right at the giant oven mounted into the wall, and gulped.

“And your sister” continued Wendy, “My new slave, will be forced to watch as you turn a lovely shade of crispy brown on the other side of that glass door! Perhaps I’ll even let her try a taste of her paunchy piggy-boy brother, once you’re ready to eat!”

Greta looked at her brother’s fear-stricken face. His new jowls and chubby cheeks were quivering like jelly as his beady, frightened eyes met her own. To suppress a snicker, she looked down at the floor as if ashamed of their mutual degradation.

Yes, she thought. I certainly do look forward to THAT, brother dear!

Sneaking a quick look at her brother’s penis hanging out from under his newly fattened gut, she felt her mouth water.

I wonder if it will taste like wurst, she mused.

Meanwhile, the witch had produced several more of those accursed gingerbread houses and placed them on a table, within arm’s reach of Hans’ cage.

“Here!” she told him. “You liked my candied gingerbread house so much, I’m going to give you all the gingerbread houses you want! Each one you eat will help turn those tough, stringy muscles of yours into tasty fat! So eat, eat, my greedy little sweet-tooth!!”

The witch’s words reverberated in Hans’ head as, to his horror, he felt the uncontrollable urge to start grabbing those sinister sugary confections from the nearby table and gorging himself on them to feed his craving.

He tried to resist, but within seconds he reached out for the closest one with his fat new fingers.

“Good boy!” laughed the witch, watching him take a huge bite of the marshmallow-fluffed gingerbread with tears in his eyes.

“I’ll come back soon, to check on your progress! Just keep on eating to your heart’s content, my little meat dumpling!”

Hans sobbed as he shoveled the candy-house into his mouth, Wendy and Greta shared a secret smile.

“Your brother is going to taste SO good,” the witch said telepathically to her. “You’re very lucky, having such a TENDER young boy for your first meal as a witch!”

“And how funny it will be,” thought Greta, “When we tell my stupid brother the TRUTH about me becoming a witch who wants to eat him!”

“Indeed” the witch thought back. “But let’s keep him believing, for now, that there’s still hope for you to rescue him! That will make his fragile little mind’s torture ALL the more tantalizing!”

Hans heard none of this. Instead, what he heard the witch shouting at his sister was:

“Keep sweeping, girlie! And don’t try anything funny while I’m gone, or I’ll turn you into a TOAD!!”

“Y-yes ma’am!” said Greta, doing her best to sound frightened.

The witch’s black heels clicked away, and for a minute the kitchen was silent but for the sounds of Greta sweeping up, while Hans hungrily crammed another gingerbread house into his maw.

Greta pretended to cautiously peep out into the living room, before setting down her broom. Hans could barely look up from his eating to look at his sister, as she came over to his cage wearing a mask of sympathy.

“Oh, Hans, we’re in such terrible trouble! But…why do you keep eating those gingerbread houses?! The witch has gone away!!”

Her brother managed to look up for just a moment, before going back to stuffing his cheeks, sending bits of candy falling from his mouth onto the floor and his bare feet.

“I can’t help it, Greta!” he cried. “They’re addictive! I’m completely under that witch’s power!”

“Hans, you said you’d protect me! You promised!!”

Greta stifled a giggle at the devastation her words obviously wrought on him, and walked back over the broom she’d set down.

“Oh no, brother! I’m still under the witch’s power, too! I…I can’t control my arms or legs! I must keep sweeping!”

She was under no such spell, actually, but felt that tidying up around the kitchen was the polite thing to do for Wendy, who was being so good to serve her brother for dinner this evening in commemoration of Greta’s becoming a witch.

It was still difficult to focus on cleaning the kitchen, however, when the young girl would’ve liked nothing better than to pull up a chair, watch her brother stuff himself and attack her gushing pussy with both hands.

It was so thrilling, seeing her formerly handsome brother magically swelling up into butterball, right before her very eyes. He seemed to be gaining a pound a minute!

I’m really going to EAT him, she thought, I’m going to consume own brother’s FLESH as sacrament to my new master, The Evil One, and become a real WITCH! This is going to be so COOL!

Hans already felt painfully full, and yet his stomach just kept expanding and expanding, to store more and more food inside him. He finished another gingerbread house, but when Greta noticed that he hadn’t picked up another one yet she grew worried.

“What is it, Hans?” she asked cautiously. “Did the witch’s spell wear off…?”

“I…I think so!” he replied, gasping for air. “M-maybe it only works when the witch is close by. Maybe now, we can f-find a way to escape!”

“No!!” cried Greta, then stopped herself. “I mean, that is…we, ah, can’t do anything too hastily! Wendy…the witch…she’s more powerful than us. We’ve got to be clever and outsmart her. First of all, you should keep eating those gingerbread houses.”

“What?! Why??”

“So as not to arouse her suspicions!” answered Greta, unable to help smiling. “But listen, I have a plan for when she gets back! She’ll want me to help with putting you in the oven, yes?”

Hans felt a cold sweat come over him.

“S-she will?”

“Yes, absolutely! So, when she asks me to check if the oven is hot enough, I’ll just tell her I don’t know how. Then she’ll lean in close, to show me how to do it…or, to do it herself. And that’s when I’ll give her a hard shove from behind, and close the door, trapping her inside!”

Hans’ eyes lit up.

“Yes, yes!! That could work!!”

“Right! So go on, now…keep eating!”

Her brother grimaced, but gingerly reached through the bars of his cage and picked up yet another mini-gingerbread house from the kitchen table beside him.

Greta almost felt a pang of guilt as she watched; a vestigial sliver of leftover morality. But then she remembered, she was a witch now, and could do whatever she wanted. The old rules no longer applied, and she was hungry. Hungry for power and status and success, but also hungry because that human meat pie she’d eaten earlier had been so wonderful…but not nearly enough!

“Hurry!” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I think Wendy’s coming back!”

She was. Just as Greta ran back across the room and picked up her broom, the witch reappeared through the kitchen doorway, casting a stern look at the twins.

Satisfied that Hans was continuing to eat the gingerbread, she snapped her fingers at Greta and issued a new command:

“You, girl! Come with me, I wish to have my new slave clean my upstairs chambers…before I force you to watch me have your brother for my supper!”

Wendy the witch spun around on her heels and marched out.

“Hurry up!” she shouted at Greta from the hallway. “Follow me, you wretched thing! Raus!!”

Greta set down her broom, and hurried over to Hans.

“Don’t worry, brother!” she whispered. “Just keep eating that gingerbread!”

“But…but she’s gone upstairs!” protested Hans. “Can’t I stop now?”

“She could come back at any second!” insisted Greta. “Trust me, you MUST do this for our plan to work! We’ve GOT to lull her into a false sense of security!”

Hans wasn’t sure if his sister had the right idea. But he was the one in the cage, and she wasn’t, so therefore he had to trust her plan.

Picking up another gingerbread house from the table, Hans took a deep breath and prepared himself to continue eating as his sister ran out of the room.

He couldn’t help but notice how fantastic Greta’s tight ass looked, clad in those frilly black panties and pushed out by her black high heels as she wobbled out the doorway. And her long legs looked even lovelier, in those sheer black stockings hoisted up by her garter belt…

Hans shook his head, reprimanding himself for such taboo distractions.

Curse that perverted old witch, dressing my sister like a whore just to tempt me with evil desires…!

Eating his feelings, the young man took another big bite from his frosting-coated desert of the damned.

(continued in next post)

(continued from previous post)

Greta eagerly followed Wendy upstairs, who waited until they got behind the door of her bedroom before embracing her conspirator in a passionate kiss. Wendy didn’t say a word until they broke for air, after several minutes.

“You were simply magnificent, darling” the witch panted into Greta’s face, when the kiss finally broke. “You should have come to Hollywood to be an actress, not a model!”

“Th-thank you” she said. Her heart was beating fast and her voice was shaking. “But who knows? I didn’t plan on becoming a witch, either!”

The young girl laughed nervously at her own joke. Wendy grabbed Greta by the shoulders, throwing her between the curtains of her canopy bed at the center of the room.

As Greta landed on her back with a bounce of the bed mattress, she saw the witch’s boudoir spin around her. It was just as elegant and refined as the rest of her house, and Greta felt as though she’d just been thrown into the bedchambers of royalty.

She didn’t have long to look, before Wendy pounced on top of her like a lioness in heat. The young girl felt the witch’s black stocking-clad legs become entwined with her own, and stared up at the gilded panels on the ceiling while the nape of her neck was covered in kisses.

Then, her eyes spotted movement on one of the walls. For a moment, Greta thought it was a flat-screen TV that had been left turned on. But it had a round frame…and it was displaying a close-up view of her brother, still caged up in the kitchen!

“Oh!” said Greta, sitting up from the mattress on her elbows. “You’ve got a security camera on Hans!”

“Better than that” corrected Wendy. “It’s my magic mirror.”

“A magic mirror!” laughed Greta. “That’s too perfect! Just like in ‘Snow White’!”

“Where do you think they got the idea?” the witch smirked.

Sharing a laugh, the new lovers became further acquainted with each other: elder teaching younger the sinful pleasures of sapphic submission, and submission to evil, in body and soul.

Occasionally they looked up to monitor their livestock’s progress through the magic mirror on the wall. They cackled wickedly as brother Hans ballooned up another fifteen pounds in fifteen minutes, thanks to the enchanted treats he continued to choke down.

“See how fat he becomes, as we make love!” said the witch, in Deutsch.

“The big dumb slab of meat!” squealed Greta in her native tongue, before sticking her face back into the black muff between Wendy’s legs.

Downstairs in the kitchen, thinking himself alone and unseen, Hans attempted to abandon his sister’s vague strategy and put down the gingerbread treat he’d most recently picked up from that seemingly never-ending pile. But it was no use; he was still hooked.

His sister had been gone for a long time, now, and Hans feared the worst. Was Greta okay? There was still hope that she could get the best of that witch when she wasn’t looking, maybe whack her over the head with a blunt object while her back was turned. Could that even work? She was a witch, but witches were still human…weren’t they?

Perhaps long ago, he pondered, Wendy had once been an innocent young maiden at first, like my sister…

———

After what felt like an eternity to Hans, Greta and Wendy returned to the kitchen.

He could see that Greta’s blonde hair was somewhat disheveled, and he shuddered to think what sort of abuse the witch had been putting her through.

Wendy threw back her head in laughter at her captive boy, and extended a pointy black fingernail at him.

“Look, Greta! Your stupid little piglet of a brother is a great big porker, now! And with so many rolls of yummy fat, I’d say he can kiss those dreams of having a modeling career goodbye! No-one’s going to want a lardass like him to model their clothing. All that he’s good for now is to be slaughtered for a fine, meaty meal!”

The fattened-up boy saw his sister cover her face with both hands, apparently weeping, but actually covering up her own cruel laughter.

Leaving Greta by the doorway, Wendy strode over to Hans’ cage and whipped out an open hand at him.

“Stick out your cock, piggy-boy! Stick that Schwanz through the bars of your cage, and put it in my hand! Right now!”

Hans paused from his eating, and stared at the imposing witch.

“Wh-what?” he said, as gingerbread crumbs fell from the sides of his pudgy mouth.

“You heard me!!” she snapped, shaking her palm at him impatiently. “I need to check your meat thermometer. You certainly look fat enough, but one quick squeeze on your little piggy tail will tell me for sure!”

Hans helplessly looked to Greta, who was holding her breath as she watched her brother’s degrading treatment with barely concealed excitement.

“Don’t look at her!” barked the witch. “Look into my eyes, piglet, and do as I say! Put down that food, if you can, and present that filthy little meat-stick to your mistress!!”

Hans felt his body moving against his will again, unable to refuse Wendy’s command. He reluctantly set a half-eaten gingerbread house aside and shuffled closer to the witch, the distended gut of his blubbery new body pressing up against the cold iron cage.

So fat was he now, that the boy couldn’t even see his own chubby little flaccid penis over his stomach, when he poked it between the cage bars.

The witch grabbed him, and Hans groaned. Her fingers were long and bony, yet also soft and warm, and they felt good prodding and pinching his length as they inspected him. When he felt her long fingernails scratch gently at the underside of his ballsack, he began to get hard.

Wendy sneered as Hans’ eyes closed and he grunted in pleasure, like a thoughtless animal under the manual stimulation of his genitals.

Greta pretended to cover her face in shame, but her eyes blazed with insane delight as she peered through her fingers at the sordid scene of this dominant older woman molesting a caged human animal, her own bare-naked brother!

He really IS just a dumb animal now, the witch thought telepathically to Greta. See how I milk him, like a barnyard stud?

Greta sent her own thoughts back across the kitchen:

Yes! Oh, and I just LOVE seeing my idiot brother treated like the brainless beast he’s always been!

With Hans’ hardening penis between the witch’s thumb and forefingers, Greta realized that she too could feel her brother’s “tail” in her hand, as if they were both holding it - an unexpected benefit to her new psychic link with Wendy.

He thought he was SO cool back home, Greta’s shared thoughts to the witch continued. A real STUD, like you say! Never could keep that nasty thing in his pants! Just rutting his way around town with every girl and woman he could find! How appropriate now, seeing him reduced to livestock!

As the witch felt Hans’ fully engorged cock in her palm, she could easily understand why such a healthy, girthy specimen as this boy would be so popular with the ladies. Word travelled fast, in small Bavarian towns and villages.

Ah, but you and I will have a very different use for your brother’s flesh, she silently sniggered back to Greta, Now that we’ve turned his muscles into yummy FAT, ja? Those peasant girls back home certainly wouldn’t want him the way he is NOW, would they?

Behind the shield of her hands, Greta licked her lips anxiously and thought a question at Wendy:

He’s fat enough NOW, isn’t he? Can’t we start cooking him yet?? I can feel how…EXCITED he is in your hand, and I’m afraid he might shoot off…!

The witch smiled.

Yes, my child, she thought back. We mustn’t let him lose that sexual potency before we put him in my oven, for it adds SO much flavor. You’re right! It’s TIME now! It’s time, it’s time, it’s TIME!!

Wendy withdrew the caress of her hand from Hans’ erect cock, viciously struck it with a hard SLAP, and Greta’s knees went weak at the sound of the yelp her brother made.

“Naughty boy!!” said the witch.

Hans started weeping as his member shrank back down, stinging with pain.

“How dare you get hard in your owner’s hand!” she continued to berate him. “Don’t you know by now you’re nothing but meat, you naughty little piggy-boy? What do you think I am, some peasant farm girl who takes the dogs and pigs and horses of her father’s stables for her lovers?”

He had no idea how to answer such an accusation.

Mainly, Hans just wanted to collapse on the floor, if only there were room. But becoming portly had made the simple act of standing in place for any duration of time into an endurance test. And now that he weighed twice as much as he did upon first entering the cage, the boy was simply too fat to fall.

The witch twirled around on her high heels, once again displaying her charms to him.

“You still lust after my body? Eh, swine?”

She stopped, and wagged her finger at him.

“Naughty boy! Do you know what happens, to naughty boys like you? Boys who can’t keep their dirty little piggy-penis from acting up…?”

Hans felt the strong urge to scream and wake himself up from this nightmare, to prove that it had all just been an insane hallucination. A bad dream, provoked by a scary bedtime story half-remembered from childhood.

But the endless consumption of gingerbread had parched his throat dry, and the heavy weight of his body was real…all too terribly real.

The witch leaned forward and Hans flinched backwards, frightened by the feral mania in her eyes.

“Naughty boys get eaten!!” she shrieked in his face, baring her teeth like a predatory animal. “We witches just loooove to eat bad little boys like you, Hans. That’s why I’m about to put you in my oven!! But first, we must finish getting you prepared…!”

Wendy strode away and with the snap of her fingers, his cage door popped open. For one brief moment, Hans felt brief elation that he might be able to make a run for it, until he tried to move and couldn’t. His body was frozen in place like a mannequin.

Once again he was moving against his will, levitating an inch above the floor, and…

Wait! He was falling!!

Hans toppled forward like a collapsing tree out of the cage, and closed his eyes as he braced for impact…

But just when his nose was about to smash onto the kitchen’s checkered tiles, he felt himself stop. His feet were lifting up by the heels, up into the air…He was being flipped upside-down!

With his head at the ground and feet pointing up at the ceiling, Hans levitated to the center of the witch’s kitchen and over a large drain in the tiled floor, which he could have sworn hadn’t been there earlier.

The witch snapped her fingers again, and another remarkable thing happened. Hans felt a tickling kind of tingle over almost all his body, and all over his head. Then he saw golden-blonde hairs floating down past his eyes, and felt a spreading bareness on his skull.

His HAIR was falling out!!

And though he couldn’t see it, Hans’ hair was crumbling away like ashes upon reaching the floor, just like his clothing. In less than one minute he was rendered as smooth and hairless as he was naked.

Wendy casually walked past him to the other side of her kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at Greta - who did not have to pretend to be amazed by the witch’s magical midair upside-down suspension and hands-free full-body shave of her brother.

Behind him, Hans heard the sound of an opening drawer and the rattle of silverware inside.

“And now” said Wendy, “I’ll have your very own sister help me to prepare you.”

The blood rushing to Hans’ bald head was already making him feel dizzy, and the added pounds of fat weighing him down was a discomfort such as he’d never experienced. It was becoming hard to think clearly.

Help prepare him? What else could that mean…?

From his upside-down vantage point, Hans watched Wendy’s heels tap across the room, back to Greta, where she ceremoniously presented his sister with the handle of a long, sharp butcher knife.

“Here!” she told Greta, “You get to cut your own brother’s throat! Won’t that be fun, dearie?”

“No, please!!!” cried Hans.

“Please!” cried Greta, playing her part as she took the knife. “Don’t make me do this!”

“I’m afraid you have no choice, child!” laughed the witch. “Your every action is mine to command! I can have you do anything I wish, so long as you remain under my spell!”

Being upside-down and disoriented, Hans didn’t see the knowing wink that Wendy gave his sister.

I’m not REALLY controlling you around right now, thought the witch. Go, slice your brother’s throat open of your own free will! Just make sure it’s a good, deep cut.

Oh goody! she thought back.

Stretching her acting abilities to their limit, Greta then did her best impersonation of being controlled by unseen forces as she staggered across the room in her high-heeled shoes, and carried the butcher’s knife towards her terrified brother.

This is the end for me, thought Hans, watching her high heels approaching him. It’s too late for us to escape together, now…

“Greta!!” he cried. “I know this isn’t your fault, and I forgive you! But you must still try to escape, even without me! If this witch makes you cut my throat with that knife, I want you to cut her filthy throat next!!”

“I’ll try, my brother!!” wailed Greta, while thinking: Whatever.

She squatted down in front of Hans’ head, and as she laid the blade upon his throat, the twins both heard the witch cackling again behind them.

“Foolish children!” she said. “You don’t think I’m finished making this boy suffer yet, do you? Those gingerbread houses weren’t just enchanted to be fattening. They’ll also keep our little piggy-boy alive and conscious, all the way to the dinner table!”

Hans couldn’t believe his ears. Was that even possible?!?

And then he thought, I’m hovering in the air, hairless and obese, while my own sister is being forced to cut my throat. Of COURSE it’s possible…

Greta punctured the knife’s point deep into the flesh of his neck, and slid it across his throat.

He mistook for anguish the little moan that escaped from his sister’s mouth, as his throat came open.

Hans wanted to scream through the searing pain, but with vocal cords severed he could only emit a disgusting gurgle. His head flopped back, and crimson blood pour down his chin like a waterfall, into the drain on the kitchen floor…

Watching his own blood circling the drain, he heard the witch laughing long and wickedly at the spectacle.

“Excellent work, my pet!” she said to Greta. “You make a fine butcheress. Look! Look at your brother’s eyes rolling back. So much wonderful pain. He’ll just be feeling very cold soon, very chilly, as all that blood leaves his disgusting fat body. And then…Then, he’ll really know what pain is, as I keep him alive throughout the rest of our preparations. And you, you’ll get to help me every step of the way, lucky girl!”

(continued in next post)

(continued from previous post)

The witch hadn’t exaggerated.

As his process of becoming witch-food entered its next phase, Hans entered a world of pain unlike anything he’d ever imagined. For who could ever imagine what it would feel like, going through an entire gutting and cleaning process that no living thing should be able to survive?

The first step, being totally emptied of his blood, was a truly uncanny hell. Once it had all done down the floor drain, Hans was moved onto the kitchen’s butcher block countertop and laid flat on his back. With his throat muscles severed, the young man could only watch helplessly as his evil captor forced his innocent sister to help her peel open the flesh of his stomach, and remove his sweet meats into the witch’s kitchen pans…dumping his unusable, unwanted organs into heavy duty meat bags.

“Lots of fat to settle into the meat” the witch observed to Greta, sounding like a cooking show hostess. “Some men carry fat on the front, others on the belly, their back or their flanks. Of course, now your brother has it everywhere!”

From the first moment when the folds of his obese stomach were pulled open, Hans was hoping against hope that the witch’s spell might wear off. He hoped for unconscious sleep to overtake him, to feel the sweet embrace of death.

But such relief never came. Hans felt each pull and tug of Wendy and Greta’s fingers as they tore out his intestines, and the unceasing pain which should have short-circuited his brain only drove him further to the edge of insanity.

If only I could at least scream, thought Hans, as his gutting continued.

With no circulation left in his body, he also couldn’t so much as squirm in protest against the curious sensation of having his body violated by fistfuls of breadcrumbs, garlic, onion, butter and parsley, all stuffed into that hollowed-out cavern of his stomach.

And once his hands and feet were severed at the wrists and ankles by Wendy’s bone saw, he literally couldn’t lift a finger against them, either. Their removal took just a few minutes, but the torturous intensity he felt as the saw’s teeth run back and forth into his limbs made any sense of time meaningless to the poor boy. It must have been years before they finally popped off.

The next step was the witch’s needlework upon Hans’ trussed-up living carcass. He felt every stab and jab of that long needle in and out of his skin as his stomach, now bulging with stuffing, was carefully sewn shut.

At least his sister wasn’t forced to participate in this stage of his preparation. But the witch still forced her to remain by the kitchen countertop, staring at her bloated brother’s butchery with what seemed to Hans like numb fascination, occasionally shifting in place with her legs clamped together in what he assumed was nausea at the revolting ritual.

Wendy folded and tied together Hans’ limbs atop his stomach, then washed her hands in the kitchen sink.

“There!” she declared, turning off the faucet. “Wasn’t that fun, Greta? Look at your dear brother, now he’s all dressed up for dinner! Doesn’t he look handsome?”

She moved over to the wall-mounted oven, and turned off its dial.

“While my oven heats up” said the witch, “I’ll have you chop up some fresh vegetables for your brother’s roasting pan, while I tend to his basting.”

If MY little oven were any more heated up, thought Greta, I might explode!

But keeping up the charade for her brother, what she said out loud was:

“Ohhh, you awful witch! I hate you!”

Greta then whispered to Hans, while Wendy pretended not to hear:

“Don’t worry! Just wait until that oven door is opened, then I’ll push her in for sure!”

She tried not to laugh at the desperate, hopeful look on her brother’s face. Even if she could rescue him, what sort of life could he live as an uncooked human entrée?

Greta saw her brother’s body lifting up into the air once again on the power of unholy magic. Wendy took a roasting pan from her pantry and placed it underneath him, as he remained suspended. Greta move over to a pile of vegetables the witch set out for her, and began chopping up fresh carrots, cucumbers and celery to make a bed for Hans.

Hans began to feel a tickling sensation along his backside. But this was not magic: only the fibers of a basting-brush coated with oil, administered by the witch as she lathered him up for her oven. And to reach every nook and cranny within his folds of fat, she slowly rotated his levitating body in midair as if he were on an invisible spit.

Hans knew there wasn’t much time left now. The oven was getting hot, and once he was lowered into his bed of veggies, he’d be all set to go…

So panicked was he, that he did not notice his sister deftly set aside a particularly long and fat cucumber from the vegetable pile, while sharing a smile with the witch.

With a crook of her finger, Wendy brought Hans back down onto the table and into his pan, belly first. He had a feeling not unlike what a corpse might feel being laid into a casket, for cremation.

“There, doesn’t he look lovely!” remarked the witch. “I wish I could take a picture of you like this, dear boy. You look so fine and dandy!”

“I wish I could take a photo too” thought Greta to Wendy, in their shared mind-space. “But I don’t think it would start my modeling career off correctly, to show Hans like this on my social media before he disappears!”

“Wouldn’t it make a nice photo to email to your mother?” she replied. “’Having a wonderful time in Los Angeles! Today Hans became a human oven-roaster!’”

Greta suppressed a giggle. Wendy laughed outright, and ran her hands along Hans’ naked backside, pinching at the fattened bugles of his midsection and the doughy, oiled-up lengths of his arms and legs.

He felt the hands leave his body, and wondered what the witch was doing. But he didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Wendy jammed a green apple into Hans’ mouth without warning, lodging it between his teeth. Seconds later, at Hans’ other end, she followed it with a carrot: long, pointed, and rammed halfway up his ass. What little sound he was able to emit, the apple muffled anyway.

“Well, that about does it” said the witch. “You know, Greta, I did consider shrinking your brother down, to cook him a little faster. It’s an amusing sight, seeing a young man’s entire body in miniature upon one’s dinner plate. But I thought, ‘No.’ There must be enough of your brother to go around, yes?”

Before Hans could wonder what she meant by that, he heard a heavy rumbling noise behind him; the sound of metal wheels rolling and creaking. The glass door of the oven was sliding up along the stone wall.

The witch was opening her oven!!

This would be Greta’s chance to push her in!!!

“He’s all ready to go!” said Wendy. “All we need to do is see if it’s hot enough inside. Greta, why don’t you be a good little girl and check it for me?”

Hans’ heart was pounding, or at least it would have been, if it weren’t sitting in a storage tub with all his other gutted organs.

Greta’s eyes flashed at her brother, before looking back to Wendy.

“Hmm, I’m sorry” she said, “But I’ve never done such a thing before.”

“Never done what?” the witch demanded.

“I’ve never checked the temperature of an oven.”

“Stupid girl!” spat Wendy. “It’s simple! Merely stick your head inside, and see if the temperature is sufficiently hot! Quit stalling and get to it!”

“Will you…show me?” asked Greta.

“Fine!” the witch huffed, and stomped over to the oven’s open door, her heels clicking impatiently along the floor tiles.

Time seemed to stand still for Hans. He couldn’t see the oven, but he could feel the heat emanating from it across the room onto his bare, carrot-stuffed bottom.

He knew she must be close, very close, and that any second now, he’d watch his sister take off running to give the witch a forceful push that would send her tumbling ass-over-heels, straight into the oven…

…But Greta just stood there.

She didn’t even seem tensed up, or ready to act.

The only tension Hans could see was that that her lips were quivering…it looked like she was trying to hide a smile.

“Yes” he heard the witch say. “It’s hot enough.”

And then, Greta did smile.

“Oh, good!” she chirped, looking down at hapless Hans, whose expression she thought was absolutely priceless.

The disbelief and feelings of betrayal written into his pudgy features were just as delicious as the witch had promised her. Greta clucked her tongue and shook her head at him.

“Don’t cry, my brother. You’ll streak your basting-oil!”

Hans heard Wendy’s heels click back across the kitchen floor, to safely rejoin her young apprentice.

“Stupid, trusting Hans” she said. “Dummkopf!”

“Ja” agreed Greta, as the witch wrapped her arms around her and kissed her on the cheek with her full, black lips.

“How did your brother manage to live this long, being so stupid?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” giggled Greta. “Although, it is a good thing he lived long enough to grow up into this great big meal. With a little help from your gingerbread, of course!”

It really was something special, she thought. Watching her brother methodically transformed into a human roast had her so hot and bothered between the legs, Hans surely would have smelled her arousal if they hadn’t severed his lungs!

And now, watching the total emotional and mental breakdown playing out wordlessly upon her brother’s fat face was almost even better. In a couple short hours he’d discovered that boy-eating witches were real, that he had been tricked by one…and now he knew that his own beloved sister had been corrupted into joining her, into becoming part her dark sisterhood.

Holding their scantily clad bodies close together, Wendy leaned past Greta and picked up the cucumber she’d set aside while cutting up vegetables.

Hans watched the witch gently run the long, thick cucumber up along his sister’s thigh-high stockinged legs, brushing past the garter straps on her inner thighs.

“You’ve selected a fine piece of produce” purred Wendy, “For us to play with while we watch your brother get nice and crispy in my oven. I’ve set it to a very low heat, so he’ll cook nice and slow. And because I’ve enchanted him to stay alive, he’ll feel everything…”

“Wunderbar” Greta shuddered, as the witch touched the green tip of the vegetable against the black-clad softness of her sex.

Hans could see that the frilly black panties covering his sister’s pussy now had quite the damp spot, as the witch teased her with the cucumber.

There was no mistaking the cause of his sister’s arousal, but still his mind screamed out: Why?!? WHY?!? How could she do this! My own sister!! My own SISTER is helping a WITCH to EAT ME, her own BROTHER!!! WHY???…

And then the witch, hearing those silent cries of his mental anguish, turned to Greta and smiled.

“He wants to know ‘why,’ my dear. Would you care to tell him?”

Greta placed her hands on the table, and brought her face directly in front of her brother’s.

“We came here to make our dreams come true,” she whispered. “So that’s what I’m doing. If becoming a successful model means becoming a witch, then so be it…Sacrifices must be made, dear brother. YOUR sacrifice!”

She kissed her brother’s cheek, licked the oil from her lips and flung herself back into Wendy’s arms.

“Can we cook him now, Wendy? Can we? Can we??”

Hans hadn’t heard such an enthusiastic tone of voice from his sister since they were children, begging their mother to bake them a cake. And now here she was, begging Mutter Wendy to bake him.

“Of course, dear!” said the witch. “Let’s roast this porker!!!”

With the wave of her hand, the roasting pan sailed through the air like a flying carpet, sending Hans and his bedding of vegetables across the room where he landed on the open oven’s top grill. Within seconds, Hans felt the coldness of his bloodless, emptied husk of a body become washed over by the warmth of the oven’s heat.

A few seconds more, and that bath of hot, dry air started to become unbearable.

The witch ran a pointed black fingernail between the cups of Greta’s lacy black bra that covered her small, firm breasts and excited, rock-hard nipples.

“Care to do the honors of sending your brother off on his journey, dearie…?”

“Oh, but of course!” she answered smugly.

Hans watched as the long black stockings of his sister’s legs strode haughtily across the kitchen, hands held on the black garters of her swaying hips while her black high heels click-clacked along the kitchen floor.

She came to a stop before the oven and regarded Hans with contempt for a moment, flicking her blonde hair back over her shoulder. Then she raised a leg and with her shiny black shoe, pushed her brother’s roasting pan a few inches further into the oven.

For Hans, this was like being lowered deeper into a pot of boiling oil, due to the painful reaction of his oil-coated skin inside the hot, hot heat…

He watched his sister playfully wave “goodbye” with one hand, while her other hand grasped the oven door’s handle and brought it down, separating her from Hans with a thick layer of glass that trapped the young man in a private inferno.

Through the oven door’s window, Hans watched the witch join his sister’s side. They locked their lips and limbs around each other, and as their bodies rubbed together Hans was bewildered to find himself getting excited by the sight of them, even through the pain of his body’s moisture rapidly dried out. At least it was a distraction.

Wendy’s tongue swirled around Greta’s, and she felt her garter panties being tugged aside. The witch’s hand was probing the soft, wet folds of her young apprentice’s pussy when Greta felt something else between her legs, something hard and bumpy.

It was the cucumber that Wendy had instructed her to set aside for later. Now Greta felt it penetrating into her hot, tight little hole. The witch was sliding it in and out of her…

With her free hand, Wendy caressed her fingers along Greta’s taut flat stomach and through their joined minds, they relished the thought together of how Hans would soon be digesting inside both their bellies.

Watching Wendy molest his beloved sister, Hans’ every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. Why had the witch cursed him to consciously endure everything happening to him, when he should have been long dead?

A quick glance from Wendy told him the answer. The old bitch had wanted to keep him alive so she could get off on it! And judging by Greta’s reactions, his sister was too.

Hans gasped - or would have, if he’d still owned a set of lungs - as he watched their two pairs of high heels lifting up off the floor, as they rose into the air.

And with arms and legs still wrapped around each other’s bodies, they began to spin like a pair of circus acrobats on wires.

Greta felt the witch’s power entering her, just like that cucumber had. With wicked joy coursing through her, she looked down at her brother as Wendy spun her about. He seemed so miserable, and his misery was like catnip to her. And she was sure he was looking back, so long as Wendy’s magic still allowed him to see.

Well, good! She felt somewhat obligated to tease her brother tonight. He did have his eyes all over Wendy earlier, didn’t he?

That fat new body of his would soon be roasting to a mouth-watering, skin-crackling golden brown. How lovely! Greta couldn’t wait to try her first bite of Roast Hans, but apparently she’d have to be patient, for even a witch’s black magic was no substitute for old fashioned home cooking methods.

Greta paused from kissing Wendy’s neck, and smiled at her.

“We’re giving him quite the hot show, aren’t we?”

“Yes” the witch agreed, “Look at how fast his temperature rises!”

The floating pair giggled, as the boy popped and sizzled inside his cramped 400 degree prison.

Wendy pulled aside her own garter panties, and split her legs sideways across Greta, sinking herself into the other end of the cucumber.

The raw produce made a handy double-ended dildo, and the gap between their pelvises was soon closed as their hungry cunts swallowed up the vegetable phallus until they felt their mounds kissed.

Greta almost felt like she had entered that phantom zone again, beyond time and space. But even in midair, she remained grounded by the sounds of their moans echoing through the witch’s kitchen, and the smells of her brother’s roasting human flesh as it filled up the room, and wafted out into the rest of the house, mingling with the musky scent of her and Wendy’s pleasures.

This continued for what to Hans felt like hours and for the ladies, mere minutes, until their revelry was interrupted by the sound of Wendy’s doorbell!

(continued in next post)

(continued from previous post)

Wendy hurriedly brought herself and Greta back down to the floor, and scrambled to get some silken robes they could throw on over their sweaty bodies.

She pretended not to have been expecting company, for it was all the more fun to see Greta become panicked.

Greta didn’t know why Wendy was so insistent that she come along and answer the door with her, but come along she did.

And when the front door opened, she never would have guessed who she’d see standing there.

It was her mother!

“Monika, darling!” grinned Wendy.

“Mom?!” blurted Greta.

Monika had a suitcase by her side and was wearing a long, tan travel coat with a pair of black high heeled wedge sandals peeking out underneath.

The peculiar nature of this abrupt appearance was underscored for Greta by the fact that her mother had apparently decided to dye her hair since the previous day, from her normal golden blonde to jet black.

Monika also didn’t look at all perturbed by the fact her old friend had answered the door alongside her daughter with both of them clad in robes, and looking freshly-fucked with their flush cheeks, mussed-up hair and Wendy’s black lipstick stains all over Greta’s face and neck.

“Hallooooo!” she greeted them cheerfully, putting down her suitcase and embracing Wendy with a welcoming hug.

Fleetingly, Greta noticed that the witch and her mother shared the same statuesque build, as they stood together. With her new black hair, she almost looked like she could be Wendy’s sister.

“M-mom!” said Greta. “You’re here…! And your hair!”

Looking back at her daughter, Monika brushed the side of her head.

“Oh, this?” she giggled. “I thought I’d go with my natural coloring for this trip.”

Although this was the least of Greta’s concerns at the moment regarding her mom’s sudden visit, she was still perplexed by those words. For all her life, Greta had only known her mother as a blonde, like herself.

Monika then hugged Greta, and kissed her cheeks. Upon releasing her daughter from her arms, she tilted her nose up and sniffed at the air.

“MMMmmmm!” she hummed. “Something smells good in there! Wendy, whatever are you cooking in there for my daughter’s first meal in America?”

“Oh, it’s actually a native German dish” she answered. “You’ll see!”

Greta was speechless.

Had the witch really known all this time that her mother was coming?!?

What were they going to do about…

“Where’s your brother, Greta?” asked Monika.

The young girl felt growing panic as she grasped for an explanation, but Wendy just calmly motioned for the trio to enter her home.

“Oh, Hans is in the kitchen. Come on in, and let’s go join him!”

Utterly confused and petrified, Greta watched her mother enter Wendy’s house and almost lost her balance as she followed her inside.

The witch winked at her, making Greta feel somewhat reassured. But what did Wendy have planned? What were they going to do?

Surely she’ll have to use more magic, thought Greta, To blind my mother from seeing Hans as he is. Or is she going to sedate her? Or create a false memory of tonight? But then why allow her to visit in the first place?? Unless…Oh NO, is she planning to eat my MOTHER as well as my brother?!? What have I gotten myself into…

She watched in a cold sweat as Monika set her luggage by the living room couches, and Wendy led the way towards the kitchen. Greta’s thoughts were such a whirl that she never even stopped to think about the most logical question:

Why, if her mother was planning to come visit her friend Wendy, had she kept this a secret from her and Hans by taking a separate flight on the same day as them? If it was only meant to be a fun surprise for her children, it was a hell of an expensive one…

Such questions were soon forgotten as her mother entered Wendy’s kitchen, and Greta heard her scream.

She watched her mother enter the kitchen, and heard a scream ring out.

“Oh my goodness!!” shouted Monika. “Just look at him!!!”

Greta frantically sent her silent thoughts of alarm to Wendy:

You’ve got to do something about my mother!! Please don’t hurt her, but you’ve GOT to do something or she’ll ruin everything!!!

Don’t worry, the witch thought back with a wry smile.

They joined Monika in the kitchen and saw her opening the oven door, sending a wall of appetizing aroma from Hans’ roasted flesh blasting forth, that almost knocked Greta off her heels.

With dried-out, desiccated eyes, Hans feebly looked up feebly at his mother as she pulled his tray halfway out to look down at him.

“Oh, my poor baby!” she cried. “What have they done to you!!”

The young man’s fevered brain could barely think, but he still recognized his own mother’s face despite her different hair color.

His only coherent thought was that somehow, somehow, his mother had come to save him from this nightmare.

That his torment had acted like a distress signal, activating some primal motherly instinct that had called Monika here from all the way across the ocean, to rescue her boy…

As she listened to these thoughts, Monika began to smile. Then she snickered, and finally laughed openly in his face.

Greta’s mother looked over her shoulder at her and Wendy with a grin, and in an instant, even if she didn’t yet completely understand the situation, Greta knew she had nothing to fear from her mother. And no reason to fear for her, either.

“Well, Hans” she said, turning back to her son. “I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to. You’ve been gutted and stuffed, and you don’t even have hands or feet anymore, poor wretched thing! How have you put on so much weight? Don’t you care about your modeling career, sweetheart?”

“I made him some of our special gingerbread” said the witch. “Remember the kind we used to make together, Monika?”

Greta couldn’t help laughing to herself as she felt the truth dawning on her.

Of course! My own MOTHER is a witch, too!!!

It’s CRAZY, but no crazier than anything else that’s happened today! And it explains everything! How wonderful! We’re going to have so much FUN together, now!

Hans, for his part, could not comprehend the terrible totality of his mother’s betrayal and demonic revelation, for it was all too much to bear. His only wish now was, as before, for the relief of death.

“And look!” his treacherous mother continued, bending forward to poke at his face and rear end. “My plump little piggy-boy’s cheeks, both pairs of them, have gotten so rosy-red inside his hot oven play-pen!”

She flicked the carrot stick lodged in Hans’ bottom, which held firm in the flesh of his roasted rump.

“However are you still alive right now, son?”

“Yes, he should be dead” laughed Wendy. “Shouldn’t he?”

“Ja…” his mother agreed, looking over her shoulder again at Greta to savor the moment, as she continued:

“The only thing keeping my fat little boy alive…is my mother’s magic!”

Unlike Hans, Greta still had lungs to gasp with.

“Yes” she said to Greta, and then to Hans:

“This witch is your grandmother!”

Greta stared at Wendy, who merely smiled impishly at her with those full black lips.

Could it be TRUE…?

Well…why not? Was it any more shocking than the knowledge her mother was also a witch? But…

“But mom” said Greta. “You…you always told us that your mother passed away, before we were born…?”

“Yes…I always told you that” acknowledged Monika. “Please don’t be upset with me for keeping the truth from you for so long, darling, because I knew you’d be ready for it someday. And that day is today!”

Greta fixed her eyes on Wendy, the mysterious woman who’d seduced her this evening, in mind, body and soul. The fact she was her grandmother on top of everything else felt like a greater violation than anything. Had she really been fucking her own…

“Grandma?” she said timidly, trying out the word. “Oma?”

Wendy nodded.

“Oma” she confirmed. “I’m sorry we had to keep it secret from you for so long. But we had to wait until you were old enough to understand the kind of life your grandmother lives…until you were old enough to join me, like your mother.”

“Wait!” said Greta, looking back at Monika. “Mom, if you’re a witch, too…”

“A witch, and proud of it!” her mother laughed.

“Then why couldn’t you have told me sooner?”

“Because, dear” she said, “Like your Oma just said, you wouldn’t have been able to join us yet! Mother doesn’t much bother keeping her witchery a secret anymore, so it was simpler just to keep you in the dark for a while, rather than have her pretend to be a normal grandmother.”

“As if I could even pretend!” cackled Wendy.

“But as for me” continued Monika, “I knew I could keep up the appearance of being a normal mother for you…the time was right for your initiation. And wasn’t I just thrilled when the doctors told me that I was pregnant with twins. There’s no better celebration for a young girl’s initiation into witchcraft, than the meal of a young boy…”

Greta laughed.

“You mean you always knew we’d be eating Hans one day?!”

“But of course. Your grandmother and I toasted to it eighteen years ago, not long after your father had impregnated me. Having taken what I needed out of him…well, would you like to know what meal we toasted over?”

“No!” blurted Greta. “No way!!”

“In the very same oven” said Wendy, “That your brother’s inside of right now.”

“The only two things men are good for” snickered Monika. “Right, mom?”

She gazed back down at Hans. Her son’s mental faculties had atrophied to near-insanity after hearing all of this, and she couldn’t blame him. A series of such shocking revelations, one after another, would drive even the most strong-willed men mad, let alone her foolish little boy.

“My, it’s so hot in here” she said, standing upright. “You won’t mind, ladies, if I changed into something more comfortable?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, Greta’s mother dropped her long overcoat onto the floor.

Underneath it, she wore only a black lace bra and frilly black panties - plus sheer, thigh-high stockings suspended by a garter belt that wrapped all the way around her wide hips. Greta did a double-take.

Hans and Greta were both slightly agog at seeing their normally conservative mother wearing such sexy attire.

What is this, thought Greta, The official Witch Uniform?

The siblings also had to gawk at how much wearing the same black undergarments made her mother resemble a young Wendy - or rather, how strongly Wendy resembled an older version of her daughter.

Monika wiggled her panty-clad bottom at her trussed-up captive son, then looked impatiently at her mother and daughter.

“Well, go on! Don’t make me feel like the odd woman out in this family. You can both make yourselves comfortable, too!”

With hearty smiles, Greta and Wendy eagerly undid their robes and cast them aside. At last, all three generations of witches were united in the naked truth, while nearly naked themselves in their lacy black delicates.

“Oooohh, you’ve been keeping yourself in great shape, mom!” remarked Monika.

“Oh, you flatterer” giggled Wendy. “Just look at yourself!”

“It’s all good breeding” she replied, casting her eyes up and down her daughter’s slim body.

“And Greta” she said in a sultry tone, “Don’t you just look divine in those play-clothes!”

The young girl gulped, realizing that if her own witch-grandmother had no qualms about taking her for a concubine, neither would her own witch-mother.

In fact, the way Monika sized her up at this moment was downright predatory, giving Greta a new nervous flutter in her chest and a wet new warmth between her thighs.

Monika nodded approvingly. She’d always been able to read her daughter’s thoughts, of course. But now it would be much more casual, since she wouldn’t have to hide or disguise this talent as mere motherly intuition!

“I’ve also been looking forward to telling you what a yummy treat I think you’ve grown up into” she said.

Greta watched in amazement as her mother extended an open hand, and the cucumber-dildo she and Wendy had been enjoying flew from the kitchen counter where they’d left it, across the room and into her mother’s hand.

This wasn’t the most powerful magic she’d seen all evening, but it was the first time her mother had openly used such hidden ability in front of her.

Monika studied the cucumber for a moment, then licked the end of it.

“Mmmmm!” she said, smacking her lips. “I’m not surprised you’ve already tasted my little snack of a daughter, mom.”

Greta felt her grandmother’s bosom press against her shoulder, and her arm reach possessively around her narrow waist.

“I certainly have” said Wendy, her hot breath on the back of Greta’s neck. “And we’re not done with that cucumber, either! Why don’t you put Hans back in the oven, so you can help your mother continue getting to know her granddaughter better?”

Monika grinned. “I’m so glad you decided to live in Los Angeles, mom. They’re much more open-minded out here, when it comes to things like witchcraft and family love…aren’t they?”

“Among other things” the family matriarch agreed, scratching her long black fingernails teasingly above the hem of Greta’s panties.

Hans saw his mother looking down at him in his roasting pan, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“Why don’t I baste him a bit,” she said, “Before we send him back on his way?”

Wendy thought this was a good idea and brought her daughter a turkey baster, which of course was never intended for human use but worked just as well for that purpose.

Hans’ mother bent over his cooking tray, her round ass high pushed high up in the air by wedge sandal heels as she squeezed up her son’s own fatty juices that had pooled underneath him.

“Mommy’s so proud of yoooouuu” she cooed, lovingly wielding the baster like a magic wand as she coated his hot browning flesh with his own heated fluids. She then gave his sweltering forehead a kiss, like she did when tucking him into bed as a boy.

Of course, she thought to herself, Now I’m tucking him into a much WARMER bed for the night.

Monika was about to stand up, when she felt something poking at her pussy. She looked over her shoulder and saw that her daughter Greta had snuck up behind her, and had squatted between her legs with that large cucumber in her hands and a cheeky grin on her face.

“And just what do you think you’re doing back there, you lady?” giggled Monika.

Greta pulled aside her mother’s black lace panties and parted Monika’s wet, swollen lips with one hand while the other inserted the cucumber’s tip at their entrance.

“I’m going to raw you good, mommy! That’s what! You deserve it, for all those years you tricked me!”

Hans watched his mother’s eyes flutter shut. A beatific look came over her face as Greta began to push the long, thick vegetable deep into, and back out of their mother’s hairy mound.

Coming to her distracted daughter and granddaughter’s aid, Wendy walked over and pushed Hans back into the oven, rolling the glass door down to seal him inside.

Once again consumed by the agonizing heat, Hans watched through his window as his unholy cannibal family descended into their incestuous black-gartered orgy of blasphemous voyeur sadism. It was truly something to behold!

His mother, the one who was supposed to love and protect him with her life, was down on all fours with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, and panting like a dog as she watched him cooking inside his oven-prison.

His sister, who he’d grown up with his entire life until this day, when she’d sold him as a lamb to the slaughter, was still stationed behind their mother and fucking her with that piece of green produce.

And his grandmother, who he’d never even known until today, and who’d never known him as anything more than a prize pig being fattened for harvest. She was reaching inside his sister’s panties, while her other hand was moving around inside her own panties…

He could see Wendy’s black lips were moving again, babbling something he couldn’t hear from inside the oven…

“L-look at him” she grunted. “He’s feeling the itching of the heat again…the itching that becomes burning…Heat upon heat!”

He watched the coven of boy-eating witches contort themselves through a variety of pornographic poses, delighting in their display of those sins of the flesh he’d never know again. Soon his flesh was to be their feast, and nothing more.

Mother, daughter and granddaughter became a tangled mess of writhing limbs on the floor, tongues flailing at each other’s fuckholes as they worked up an appetite. Stocking-clad legs danced in the air, the points of their black high heels twitching and trembling as they extended outwards. Six sexy, feminine hands explored the pale warm skin of each other’s curves, slipping under the thin fabric of each other’s black undergarments and feeling closer as a family then they ever had before…

…And looking, always looking back over at Hans, salivating and licking their lips and remarking on his slow-cooking progress, before returning to each other’s pleasure with renewed vigor as thoughts of Hans’ deliciousness danced in their heads. They could practically taste him already, as they ate each other out.

Wendy was floating in the air and fingering herself, watching her daughter and granddaughter bouncing their bottoms into both ends of the cucumber with all fours on the floor, when the kitchen timer finally went off.

Hans was ready for dinner!

(concluded in next post)

(continued from previous post)

Greta watched her brother, attractively arranged on a gigantic serving platter of pure silver with his vegetables, leave a trail of steam through the air as he levitated towards the dining table.

The gnawing hunger she felt for his glistening body was like nothing she’d ever experienced. She even felt a kind of pride in her brother, a happiness for him at this moment: this was his American debut! Hans wasn’t modeling the latest in high fashion, but on that silver platter his body made a striking model for gourmet cannibal cooking.

Monika read her daughter’s thoughts and smiled as she sat down beside her in the dining room. Wendy laid the Hans-platter in front of them and the young man, still very much alive, stared up at his mother and sister from the table. The apple in his mouth was fully baked, but not nearly as wrinkled and roasted as his face had become.

“What a lovely tan you’ve gotten, brother!” laughed Greta.

“And he’s only been in LA for one day!” their mother kidded.

Hans heard the jangle of cutlery, as his grandmother took out the serving utensils. He expected her to begin carving him up from the back, or his sides. But the first thing he felt was her two-pronged fork entering the back of his neck, followed by the serrated edge of a carving knife.

She was sawing through his throat, severing his head from the rest of his body!

And Hans could still feel everything, as the teeth of the stainless steel blade mercilessly ran in and out of his flesh. Soon, like a collapsing tree, his head cracked forward and fell face-first onto the table, rolling to one side before Wendy picked him up and sat him on a plate at the other side of the table.

At least now, he thought, I won’t have to feel my body’s pain any longer, with my head detached from it.

But the clever witch had already planned for that!

Hans still felt every puncture of the fork, and every slice of the carving knife, as he watched his own body being served up to his family like a Christmas turkey.

And all he could do was sit there, on his plate, facing his family of witches and wincing in pain as they divvied up his thighs, his “wings,” his loins, his ribs, his rump…one by one, each prime cut practically fell off the bone and made its way onto the plates of his hungry sister, mother and grandmother.

The separation of his meat from his body brought no escape from the torment, either. Every little stab of the ladies’ forks and knives into their pieces of Hans was felt by him, as were the sensations of being chewed and chewed before being swallowed and journeying down their gullets to be digested.

Occasionally they’d pause from stuffing themselves, and through the delirium of their ravenous feeding frenzy they’d giggle at him from across the table. Then they’d belch at him, or mockingly blow kisses to the crispy-brown head that was watching them eat the body to which he’d recently been attached. Knowing, full well, that he could feel every bite as their teeth sank into him over and over.

Soon, it became apparent to the boy that these witch’s appetites weren’t anything like human beings. As soon as one cut of roast Hans was finished, they moved on to the next one without slowing down. And then the next, and the next, as he saw his body become a mere desiccated carcass on a plate.

The insatiable witches were able to consume his every pound of edible flesh without ever getting full, and at superhuman speed as well!

With bitter irony, her remembered his sister’s years of struggling with food after deciding she wanted to be a model. The portion controls, the diets…well, now it seemed Greta had finally found a way to eat as much as she wanted!

Eventually, the witches picked Hans completely clean and there wasn’t a single morsel of man-meat left on his pile of bones.

Monika served some after-dinner wine, and as they drank and patted their soft bulging bellies with satisfaction, they began to chat amongst themselves as any normal family would. Wendy showed Monika her daughter’s fresh signature in the book of the damned, and then showed Greta where her mother had signed it all those many years ago, per family tradition.

After the book was put away, Greta started going on about her strategies to audition as a model, while his mother and grandmother chimed in about where she might find an apartment and other such practical concerns. It was quite uncanny and bizarre for Hans to hear such relatively mundane talk after everything that had transpired.

But when their conversation turned to complimenting the meal they’d made of Hans, they seemed to take notice of his head once again. And, not liking the feeling of being stared at any longer, they moved his head under the dining table where his face could be used as a footrest for the pointy heels of their shoes.

Being a mother and daughter of the old country, Wendy and Monika’s talk slowly turned to reminiscence of the vaterland and they decided to reconvene their family reunion to Wendy’s living room, and her grand piano.

There, the trio had another glass of wine while Wendy took to the keys and entertained her guests by playing rousing renditions of traditional Bavarian folk songs, to which Greta and Monika happily sang along.

Hans had no chance to accompany the chorus of Ein Prosit or any other jaunty tune. For although his depraved family did bring him along to the living room, and were even so kind as to remove the baked apple from his mouth, he still had no capacity to speak - let along sing.

“But” his mother remarked, “The boy could still use his tongue, couldn’t he?”

And that was how Hans’ head started being passed around the room, and pressed between the legs of his mother, grandmother and sister.

As they swigged more wine and belted out increasingly slurred renditions of Bavarian beer hall favorites, soon came the occasional screaming orgasms from the ladies as he serviced the women, or “Cleaned our kitties” as Wendy put it.

The coup de grace of his humiliation, however, came when the ladies began taking Hans’ head with them to the water closet. There he was made to witness his own reduction into defecation, while perched beside the toilet on the bathroom countertop.

———

As dawn broke across the smoggy LA sky, Monika departed for her hotel while Greta collapsed in Wendy’s guest room, totally exhausted. The stimulants of her grandmother’s magic had finally worn off, her belly was pleasingly full of her brother, and her pussy had been satisfied by her new “toy” as well.

The young girl’s final surprise came when she woke up, went to the bathroom and saw in the mirror that her blonde hair had turned black, like her mother and grandmother’s!

Wendy explained that while this was a side effect of becoming a witch, she could still change her hair color at will, as her mother had. Greta wasn’t sure right away how long she might keep her new hair for, as she rather liked the “darker” look it gave her.

After a few days’ visit, Monika went home to Germany. Soon after, Greta was able to find an apartment of her own and was kind enough to bring Hans along, as well: his new home was an ordinary-looking hat box, at the top shelf of her closet.

Just as her grandmother had predicted, Greta landed her first modeling contract within a week. And once her career ramped up into high gear, Hans provided an essential “service” to his sister whenever she took him down from his shelf, so that he could lend her sweaty crotch some relief after a long stressful modeling shoot.

Under grandmother Wendy’s tutelage, Greta learned to master the dark arts herself and she too became devious enough to trick unsuspecting boys home. Though she lacked a giant oven like her grandmother’s, she made do by using the magic spells necessary to paralyze young men with magically fattening gingerbread houses, and prepare them for their long journey into a sexy young witch’s tummy.

Hans’ head, even from his box stored away in Greta’s bedroom closet, would hear everything: the sex, the screams, the feast.

And every time his sister-witch Greta ate a new boy, it would take his memory right back to that day his life effectively ended, as though it were only yesterday.

That day when, once upon a time, Hans and Greta got lost and met a witch who lived in a gingerbread house.

And they all live happily ever after.

Or at least, all beautiful well-fed witches did!

THE END