By P-Funk

(cannibalism, f/imp sex, incestuous culinary practices)

For a certain Red Riding Hood, with thanks for her patience.

Everything had gone wrong, Gretel thought, as she stared out of the iron bars of her cell. Silent tears ran down the young girl's soft, milky-white cheeks as she gazed into night shrouded forest. Everything had gone wrong, and now there was no escape. The witch was going to cook and eat them both, and there was nothing she could do.

When she and her brother, Hansel, had come upon the house in the middle of the woods, they thought they'd found their salvation. They'd been abandoned by their father at the command of their evil stepmother, and had wandered for days, lost and hungry after their breadcrumb trail home had been completely eaten by the forest’s songbirds. Just when their strength had been about to give out, they'd seen it: a house made of gingerbread, covered with candy. Immediately, the poor children had set about eaten it, desperate for sustenance of any kind. They'd licked the sugar-frosted windowpanes, gobbled up the doormat woven from licorice strands, devoured toffee bricks, and gulped down chocolate shingles. Finally, their soft bellies bulging from the feast, Hansel and she had curled up to go to sleep.

That was when the witch had found them.

The pair awoke to the shrieking of an old hag, bent and stooped with age and evil, screaming bloody murder about the desecration of her house. Before either child could respond, she'd stuffed both of them into her sack, and whisked them away.

From there, things only got worse for Gretel and her brother. The gingerbread house was only a trap for catching tender young things for the witch's pleasure. Her real home was a huge and foreboding castle high in the mountains, far from any prince or woodchopper who might be able to stumble upon and save them. And the witch was not really a weak and aged woman either, but a beautiful and wicked young woman. She'd immediately put a spell on Hansel, to make him her willing and docile slave. Gretel on the other hand, was confined to a cage in the kitchen, where she was watched over by the witch's foul pet imp. The bars were strong and tough, and when she was let out—usually to slave away scouring the castle floors—she was kept firmly leashed. "You'll never escape," the witch had cooed into her ear one day. "You and your brother are mine for as long as I desire. And once I tire of you, you'll serve me one last time—by being my dinner, you delicious thing." Then she'd dug her claw-like nails dug experimentally into Gretel's small love handles, and it was all the girl could do to keep from shrieking in pain.

Now, days later, Gretel still saw no hope in sight. Casting a last look out into the dark mountain forest, she curled up and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Gretel awoke the next morning to see Hansel’s face grinning through the bards of her cage. It was a relief not to be woken up by the witch—she usually threw crockery. Nor was the watch-imp anywhere in sight. But this initial relief turned to sadness as Gretel stared at her brother’s bland, ensorcelled face. His eyes had lost all the spark and twinkle they’d once had. Under the witch’s charm, they were utterly blank, and a broad, oafish smile was plastered across his face. For all intents and purposes, Gretel’s brother no longer existed.

Nevertheless, Gretel was determined to use the witch’s absence to the best advantage she could. "Hansel, I’m so glad you’re here," she whispered. "Please, go get the witch’s key’s off the counter and unlock me!"

Hansel flashed her an empty, uncomprehending grin. "Now why do you want me to do that?" he asked.

"Because I want to get out of this cage!" Gretel fumed. "Hansel, we’ve got to get out of here!"

"I don’t understand. I’m so happy here. And it’s so hospitable of Mistress Allessandra to let us both stay for this long. Why would you want to leave?"

"Because she’s going to eat us!" Gretel practically shrieked. "Do you understand? You’re under her spell! She’s going to—"

Her protests were cut short by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "How are you this morning, my darlings?" cooed the voice of the witch, Mistress Allessandra, as she strode into the kitchen. In spite of herself, Gretel drew in a breath at the sight of her. Never had so much beauty and evil resided in the same body. The witch was still a rather young woman, and her skin was as pale as ivory. By contrast, her tresses were a raven black that matched the flowing silk gown she wore. She smiled broadly at her captives, but her eyes, an icy blue-gray, shone with hate.

"I’m starved, she said, smirking knowingly at Gretel. She snapped her fingers, and a lumpy sack on the counter transformed into the witch’s pet imp, holding a bowl of steaming hot porridge. She sat down at the table and began stirring her meal thoughtfully. She took a small bite, and frowned at the imp. "It’s missing…something. A little milk, perhaps?" She beckoned to Hansel: "Come here, boy."

He come over to her, and with a quick flick of her wrist, undid the sash that held his robe closed. It feel open, revealing his tanned, firm torso—and, below that, his rapidly stiffening shaft. "That’s what I was looking for," cooed Allessandra. Cupping his penis in her hands, she began to slowly rub up and down its length. It sprang to life in her hand, soon throbbing to the rhythm of her strokes. Nonetheless, Hansel’s blank expression remained unchanged. Even as a shudder ran through him and he spilt himself gushing in her bowl, he appeared not to have noticed at all. 

"That’s a good boy!" Allessandra praised, as she bent and finished him off with her serpentine tongue. She then tasted a small spoonful of porridge, and grinned. "Perfect." She waved Hansel away, and he trotted into the hall.

Now she turned her attention to her other captive. "Truth be told, I’m getting a little tired of him," she said to Gretel, as if they were just two peasant girls discussing a suitor. In fact, I think today is the day I’m finally going to eat him. What do you think of that?"

Gretel threw herself against the bars, screaming curses at her captor. Alessandra frowned, and then waved her hand dismissively. Suddenly, Gretel was slammed back against the wall were shackles came alive to bind limbs. Then a cloth napkin floated from the table and tied itself around her mouth, gagging her completely.

"That will be enough of that." Allessandra glowered. "I prefer my meals to squirm, not fight." With another wave of her hand, she lit the kitchen’s fireplace, where a huge cauldron full of water had appeared. "Oh Hansel," she called, "come in here. It’s time for your bath!" 

Immobilized, Gretel could only look on in horror as her brother toddled into the room. Allessandra led him over to the cauldron, into which he promptly seated himself. "Thank you for the bath, mistress," he said. "The water’s wonderfully warm."

"No, thank you," said the witch, giving him one final kiss. Then she walked out of the room. Her imp remained, busying its green little hands chopping vegetables and mixing spices to add to the Hansel soup. Every few minutes, it would give the pot a stir. Hansel, ever eager to help, eventually took over stirring himself, even as his skin began to take on a lobster-red glow. Finally, the imp dumped the vegetables and spices into the cauldron, removed the ladle from Hansel’s hands, and placed the heavy black lid over him. There was not a thing Gretel could do to warn Hansel or prevent his end. And for his part, he did not seem to mind. Not a sound came from the cauldron, until it began to boil over.

Mistress Allessandra returned and lifted the lid. She gingerly tasted a spoonful and sipped it. "A tad more red pepper might have been nice," she said, then flashed Gretel her most wicked smile. "Dinner’s ready! Do you want the eyeballs?"

It was about that time that Gretel passed out.

* * *

No words could contain the horror Gretel endured over the next few days. Mostly, she drifted in an out of unconsciousness, sleep blissfully taking her away from the horrific images she witnessed in the kitchen. Mistress Allessandra seemed to take special pleasure in pointing out this or that particular cut of meat, or commenting on which parts of Hansel were the juiciest. Her imp gnawed the leftover bones constantly, then begged for more. Worse still, they refused to feed Gretel anything but meat, in a twisted attempt to both torture her, turn her into a cannibal, and fatten her up. However, she refused to eat anything resembling flesh, fearing it might be part of her brother. Finally they relented and tossed in a roll. Ungagged for meals, Gretel gnawed at it ravenously—until she discovered the center was stuffed with meat. "That was rump," said Allessandra as she passed by the cage. Sobbing Gretel dropped the roll to the floor of her cage. 

By the next morning, her body could take the lack of nourishment no longer, and she ate the roll, and whatever else was offered, tears streaming down her face.

In time, lack of exercise and rich food began to plump Gretel up. With horror, she realized her lean form had now gain a soft lining of baby fat. And her captors began eyeing her with outright hunger, occasionally taking an experimental squeeze of a thigh or breast meat. She was nothing more than a sow to them, she realized, a beast to bring to market and slaughter. She would end up as her brother had, or worse.

Finally, the morning came. Gretel awoke to the feeling of a sharp sting behind her neck. Still shackled, she squirmed and thrashed, trying to get whatever it was that had bitten her off. Then Allessandra appeared, and plucked a small spider from off her shoulder. "This is a special variety of black widow I breed myself," she said. "They have innate magical abilities. Now that you’ve been bitten, you won’t die--ever. You’ll stay young and fresh, just as you are now. It’s how I’ve retained my figure for two hundred years. Of course," she added, "I’m not shackled. Nor am I about to be roasted." She cackled then, a low throaty laugh that rose until it sounded like a thousand bats squeaking in the rafters. Gretel knew her time was up.

The witch and the imp placed her on the counter. Allessandra then vanished, muttering about how much work she had to do before the coven arrived. Meanwhile, the imp began slathering butter and herbs over her prone body. By this point, Gretel could not even cry.

Then she became aware of a new sensation. As the imp spread the butter across her, it began to touch her in a way she’d never known. It squeezed her breasts almost tenderly, his fingers toying with the plump, pert nipples. Then it licked her face and ears, stroking her soft brown hair as if she were a favorite pet. Then, shuffling it’s little green body along the counter, it positioned itself between her legs, and buried its face in her thighs.

The feel of the imp’s tongue toying at the entrance to her mound was like nothing she’d ever known. And itching began to well up through her, and she wriggled and pressed closer to the beast. Its tongue probed her slit, then plunged between the folds of her labia, slurping up the nectar inside. Then it probed her clit, and through her gags, Gretel squealed in delight. For the first time since she had been captured, she began to feel pleasure again. Blood and desire raised through her, and she squirmed and wriggled at the imp’s touch. 

Suddenly, she felt as if she was being ripped open—and she pulled herself up enough to see that the imp had worked his arm inside up to his elbow, tearing her maidenhood. She felt his little fingers wriggling insider her, pressing against her cervix, and something like a flood erupted with in her. Her hips bucked and swelled to the rhythm of the imp’s manipulations, sweat filled every pore, and a shudder passed through her entire body. Then another, like an aftershock. Then another. Soon the warm scent of her sex filled the whole kitchen, as she bathed in the glow of her first ever orgasms.

"Don’t get too comfortable, sweetie," said a cruel voice in her ear. Startled, she opened her eyes and discovered Mistress Allessandra. Had she watched the entire time? wondered a panicked Gretel. She would not find out the answer. In two strides Allessandra had made her way to the end of the table and swept the imp off. "It’s time to prepare you, my dear," she said, and began casting another spell.

Suddenly, Gretel felt utterly emptied out, like her entire torso and hips had been hollowed. Floating in the air above Allessandra appeared a disgusting mass of what looked like something from the inside of a turkey only larger… "Giblets" said Allessandra simply. For the gravy. And the organs dropped into a kettle on the stove and began simmering.

Gretel could not even sob the shock was so great. Encouraged by her meal’s newfound humility, Allessandra removed the gag. "Don’t worry, you’ll love this next part," she said. "It’s time to stuff the bird." She produced another huge bowl, this one full of a mix of meats, herbs, breadcrumbs, and vegetables. "Sausage stuffing" cooed the witch, "made form what’s left of your pig of a brother."

"No please, anything but that!" Gretel cried. She felt her self being spread open, wider than she thought possible. "Please…no…not Hansel…" Allessandra hesitated, savoring her tears. Then she began shoveling the stuffing in.

Gretel thought she would explode. Her entire lower half had been hallowed out, and Allessandra proceeded to fill every square inch with Hansel’s last recipe. Gretel could see her belly bulging as if she were placement, but she new if someone were to open her with a knife no child, only the stuffing. Yet at the same time, she could not contain the sensation the stuffing was causing. Even as Allessandra began to pin her gaping cunny closed—"to lock the flavor in"—another orgasm swept through Gretel, adding her own essence to the meal.

Once Allessandra had levitated Gretel into a large pan, and covered her in vegetables, there was only one thing left to do. She kissed the crying girl once, deeply, drinking of her sweet young lips. Then she shoved an apple into Gretel’s mouth, and shoved her little piggy into the oven.

* * *

Over the next few hours, Gretel, kept alive by the witches magic, floated in and out of unconsciousness. Only her spirit was alive at this pint, her body was now nothing more than meat. She could feel herself become bronzed in the oven’s heat. Occasionally, Allessandra or the imp would pull her out to ladle her own juices over her, keeping her moist and succulent. The sweet smell of her own roasting flesh filled her completely.

That even she was served up for the witches’ coven. Dimly, she was aware that her head was sliced off, and placed on a platter to watch the proceedings. Even decapitated from her body, she could vaguely feel as their knives cut into her. She watched in fascination as her fattened belly was split open and the stuffing poured out, to be hastily gobbled up. When the sliced into her breast she could not help but moan with the sensation, and she quivered on her platter as she felt her nipples slip over Allessandra’s pallet like oysters removed from their shell. She felt herself be sliced open, split apart, prodded, chewed, swallowed, melted away in digestive juices. Finally, the witches carefully opened and split the tender lips of her womanhood. She cried out as each swallowed her, and when they placed the prize—her pearl of a clitoris, now a golden morsel—on the lips of her bodiless-head, even in her dissociated state she could not help but climax a final time, as she tasted and consumed the most precious part of herself. She blacked out again at that moment, and by the time she regained consciousness the table was being cleared away. 

Leaving her imp to manage the party, Allessandra whisked Gretel’s platter away. The witch carried her into an alcove, then flipped a switch, opening a secret door. Inside, the room was bare, save for a set of shelves. 

On every shelf were glass jars. And in each glass jar was a girl’s head. 

"You see," said Allessandra, "even a witch has young as I am has to do a little work to keep up appearances." And with that she pulled the head she was wearing off her neck, and placed it in an empty jar. Then she retrieved another head, this one a freckled, pigtailed blonde, and placed it on her neck. "A good meal always makes me feel so girlish. Thank you so much! You were delicious." She kissed Gretel’s head on the cheek, and placed it in a jar next to the one she’d just worn. "Get some rest now," she said. "I want you to look your best when I wear you to the Halloween Ball."

And with that, she walked out of the room, leaving Gretel in darkness.