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  House of Erotica Quickies - BDSM

  published in 2014 by House of Erotica

  an imprint of Andrews UK Limited

  www.houseoferoticabooks.com

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © House of Erotica 2014

  The rights of the individual authors of this collection have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The Gingerbread House

  Tilly Hunter

  Young lovers Hansel and Gretel are lured to the witch’s house, where Hansel finds himself chained and caged ready to be used in the coven’s midsummer ritual, but Gretel takes on the witch at her own game.

  Hansel shifts his wrists to ease the pressure of the shackles. The iron digs into his flesh and already the skin is reddening. His legs are cramped and he longs to stretch them out straight. But his cage is no more than three feet long and he can barely move. His hands hang beside his head, the cuffs chained to bars above him. His helplessness amplifies every twinge in his joints into a thousand tiny points of discomfort. He shifts his weight as far as the metal around him will allow.

  ‘Be still,’ the witch says.

  Hansel’s body freezes. Her voice holds an absolute power over him. The only movement he can manage now is the rising of his chest as his breath deepens in fear. He gazes up at the creature. And at his darling Gretel, standing meekly behind her, caught in the same enchantment.

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re hating this,’ the witch says in a deep, alluring tone. ‘My spell works only on the naturally submissive. It has always been your deepest desire to be controlled and dominated by a strong, beautiful woman.’

  Hansel’s cheeks flush. He is deeply afraid of what this woman could do to him. She is no hag, but her beauty is dark and menacing. A shiver of arousal rushes through his pelvis as she speaks, and his cock twitches.

  ‘Let Gretel go,’ he whispers. ‘Do what you want with me, but let her go.’ It is a struggle even to get these few words out without being commanded to speak. But he has to try to help his beautiful Gretel to escape.

  ‘You are in no position to make a bargain,’ says the witch. ‘And don’t speak again unless I expressly tell you to.’

  Hansel’s jaw clamps shut. Her power is terrifying. A bead of cool sweat runs down his temple.

  ‘I will need Gretel later,’ the witch goes on. ‘She can be serving maid to my friends and I as we put that lithe body of yours to use. Your suffering and the seed you spill will be our midsummer offering to the goddess. Come, Gretel, we have preparations to make.’

  ‘Yes mistress,’ Gretel says.

  The witch’s long black robe swishes as she walks through a doorway at the side hung with rich red silk. Gretel meekly follows, her head bowed.

  Hansel can breathe more easily now he is no longer in her direct presence. He looks around her gloomy lair. A bright fire burns in the grate to one side of him but the opposite wall disappears into shadow. There are couches and cushions of deep, jewel-coloured brocades and thick woollen rugs strewn across the floor. But they are all faded and threadbare. The walls are unpainted plaster, mottled and damp. From every massive ceiling beam hang black iron hooks and chains or lengths of rough rope.

  The evening had started wonderfully. Gretel met him at their favourite spot, a clearing in the woods where last autumn’s fallen leaves had drifted into a thick, soft bed. Far enough from the village to escape prying eyes. They fell straight into one another’s arms, eager to enjoy every minute of the long, midsummer evening. He lifted Gretel’s skirts and was teasingly kissing his way towards toward her moist pussy when they heard voices.

  Hansel wonders now if it was all part of the trap. Perhaps there was no one there after all. But the two of them jumped up and dashed off into the forest. They ran on and on, deeper into the dark heart of the wood.

  As the light began to fail, gloom coming early beneath the canopy of leaves, they finally stopped and caught their breath.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Gretel said. ‘We didn’t need to come this far. We’d better go back before it goes dark.’ She turned to head back the way they came, but Hansel experienced a feeling of complete certainty that they should go in the opposite direction.

  ‘This is a short cut,’ he said, his first ever lie to Gretel. He knew it would not lead them back, but he felt an irrational urge to go that way regardless. ‘I recognise this, if we go this way we’ll be back in no time. Look, the way is even marked with these stones.’

  Gretel looked sceptical at first, but when she saw the double row of white stones in the undergrowth, marking out a straight path through the trees, she believed him.

  They were still following the stones as it went dark. The markers shone brightly despite the gloom and it was a while before Hansel and Gretel, their eyes fixed on the ground ahead, realised night had fallen.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Gretel said. ‘It feels like we’re going deeper into the forest. There’s no sign of the village.’

  Hansel knew she was right. But he also knew he had to keep going. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing ahead, ‘there’s a light.’

  They stumbled on towards the warm glow and a homely looking cottage came into view. A low, stone building with a thatched roof and a stout oak door. Candlelight and the promise of a warm hearth streamed from its windows. Bright lanterns hung from the porch, as if the occupant was expecting to welcome late visitors.

  On the door was fixed a large basket filled with the spicy aroma of freshly baked gingerbread.

  A placard above the basket read: ‘An offering to all weary wanderers longing for the comforts of home. Eat and enjoy.’

  Hansel grabbed hungrily at the gingerbread, eager to taste. The scent alone was delicious. He sank his teeth into the soft, crumbly biscuit and bit off a huge mouthful, felt the heat of the ginger hit the back of his nose. It was the finest thing he had ever tasted. He gobbled down the whole thing. He reached for another and offered it to Gretel.

  ‘It’s delightful,’ he said. ‘Try some.’

  Gretel seemed unsure. He urged her to eat and she eventually nibbled a corner.

  At that moment, several things happened. The gingerbread’s flavour turned to the acrid tang of mould. Weakness washed over Hansel’s body and he fell to his hands and knees on the cold earth. The candles and lanterns were snuffed out. The front door creaked ajar and a faint glow of firelight was the only illumination.

  ‘Did you enjoy my gingerbread?’ said a voice from the doorway. It was a woman’s voice, low and menacing. Hansel looked up but all he could see was a dark shape silhouetted against the fiery glow inside. He tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot down his spine.

  ‘You do not stand in my presence, dog,’ the woman said. Cold fear gripped him but he was paralysed.

  ‘Now, crawl inside my humble abode and enjoy the comforts of my home.’ She laughed and stepped aside. Hansel wanted to get up, grab Gretel’s hand and run. But his limbs would
not obey him. Instead, he crawled inside and waited.

  ‘Come along, girl,’ he heard her say to Gretel. ‘Go and build the fire up.’ He saw Gretel kneel in front of the hearth and start pushing logs into the embers.

  ‘Into the cage,’ the woman said. He obeyed, crawling inside the tiny iron box. ‘Place your wrists against the shackles.’ He did so. The woman waved her hand and the cuffs closed tightly around his wrists of their own accord.

  ‘If you have not already guessed it,’ the woman said, ‘I am a witch. And tonight my coven will make our midsummer offering of two young lovers to the goddess.’

  Hansel’s mind is brought back to the present as the witch and Gretel return. Gretel lays out dishes on a large table. The witch sits down in front of Hansel. She now wears a long gown that appears white at first but shimmers with every colour of the rainbow as she moves. It is slashed to the thigh to reveal long, shapely legs. Her black hair is piled up in a tumbling mass.

  ‘You’re wondering what we will do to you,’ the witch says. ‘And I am going to tell you. I am high priestess of the Coven of Blessed Astarte, goddess of female sexuality. I have twelve magical sisters. We meet each month under the full moon to give pleasure to the goddess by pleasing each other. But at midsummer we hold a sacred rite in which we must drain the body of a young man who is deeply in love.

  ‘Come, I will show you,’ she says. The shackles at his wrists fall loose and the cage swings open. Hansel squirms out but as he tries to stand he feels a firm pressure on his shoulders.

  ‘I have already ordered you not to stand in my presence,’ she says. ‘I will have those clothes off you now too.’ She mutters words in a strange language and Hansel’s clothes vanish. He shivers as his bare flesh is exposed to her gaze and holds his hands over his cock. To his shame, it is becoming hard.

  ‘Do not attempt to cover your pathetic manhood,’ the witch says. Hansel pulls his hands away. He crawls after her as she walks towards the hearth. Gretel stands with her head bowed in the opposite corner.

  ‘Here is our altar.’ She points to a low table of dark wood, its upper surface worn smooth. Strange symbols are carved around the edge and lengths of rope are tied to each leg. ‘First your cock and balls will be bound to prevent you from spilling your seed too soon. Then you will prostrate yourself over the altar and your limbs will be secured. You will wait in silence while Gretel is tied to that post so that she can observe and learn.’ She indicates a wooden pillar.

  Hansel can’t bear the thought of Gretel being bound. He swallows and forces himself to speak, his voice a whisper. ‘Please don’t hurt Gretel,’ he groans. ‘Hurt me, not her.’

  The witch smiles. It is more menacing than her frown. ‘I like you, Hansel. You long to be our slave, to have your body used and abused for our pleasure and the glory of the goddess. But you still have a bit of fire in you. It’s not easy to overcome my spell of silence. It gives me an excellent reason to punish you. It will loosen you up a bit. But first, I will finish telling you of our ritual.’

  She picks up a device from the altar. ‘This may look like a strap-on cock, the likes of which I happen to know some of your village girls enjoy themselves, but it has been enchanted. Each of my sisters will don one, and we will chant the words that bless them with sensation. We become both male and female, magically uniting the powers of each sex.’

  The witch steps behind Hansel but he dares not turn around. He feels the cool tip of the false cock touch the small of his back. The witch runs it softly down the crack of his ass. Hansel gasps. His chest heaves. A spark of heat explodes in his abdomen and rushes through his body.

  ‘I see you long for it already,’ the witch says. ‘I knew you were the one for our ritual this year when I watched you and Gretel in the woods.

  ‘My twelve sisters will enter you in pairs. One will ram into your pretty little mouth, while another will burrow into the deepest recesses of that virgin ass. They will fuck you until they come, their enchanted cocks emptying into you, the sacred vessel. Once you have been filled to the brim, you will be turned over, your own cock will be released and I will ride you until I, high priestess of Astarte, drain you of your seed.’

  Hansel’s skin is damp with sweat. He hangs his head and stares at the wooden floor, ashamed to meet the witch’s eye and have her see into his very soul. The truth is her description has him panting with desire at the same time as it fills him with dread.

  ‘I know exactly how you feel,’ the witch says. ‘It is impossible to hide your need to be subjugated. Now, Gretel will administer your punishment as practice for her training.’

  He hears Gretel’s footsteps and sees her skirts as she stands in front of him. He does not want to look up at her. He knows his cheeks are flushed and his eyes glassy with arousal and he feels as if his body has betrayed his love for her.

  ‘Get up,’ she says. Her voice sounds deeper, more like the witch’s. Hansel wants to tell her he can’t rise against the witch’s command, but his body suddenly feels light and he finds he can get to his feet.

  ‘Place your hands in the loops,’ she says, indicating two loops of rope hanging from a beam in front of the fireplace. Hansel does so, not knowing if Gretel is weaving a spell on him, or if he is obeying her so she will not get into trouble. The loops tighten around his wrists and his arms are stretched high above his head.

  ‘Legs apart. Put your feet next to those ropes.’ Looking down, he sees lengths of rope tied to iron rings in the floor. He opens his legs and the ropes snake around his ankles. His torso is taut and the muscles in his arms and legs extended far beyond comfort. His stiff cock stands straight out.

  ‘I’m going to whip you now,’ Gretel says. ‘I shall start with your chest and see how those hard little nipples respond to its bite. I shall move onto your ass to warm it up for the evening’s activity. Once your cheeks are burning red, I will finish off across your thighs.’

  Hansel is mesmerised. It is his own sweet Gretel, and yet it is also a powerful, commanding being he longs to obey. Reaching above the mantelpiece, she takes a multi-lashed whip from a hook. She runs it across his face and he moans as he feels the thongs of hide caress his skin. She plays it over his chest and he shudders, wondering if he will be able to withstand the pain.

  Gretel leans in close and whispers in his ear. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not really under the witch’s spell and I’m going to get us out of this. But she’ll know if this isn’t real.’

  Hansel gives the slightest of nods to let her know he understands. She steps back and draws her arm behind her, the whip trailing. In a flash she spins it round and lashes it across his left nipple. The sting takes his breath away. His body flinches, pulling backward uselessly against the ropes. She whips the same side of his chest again. The thongs bite into his flesh and send stabs of pain through his torso. Again and again she thrashes him in the same spot. He feels the skin glowing hot. Blood rushes in his ears. The ropes dig into his wrists each time he flinches.

  ‘Very good Gretel.’ He hears the witch’s voice behind him. ‘I can see you are going to be worth training. I will leave you to it while I complete the preparations.’

  Gretel moves on to his right nipple. He grunts as fresh jolts of pain shoot through him. He tugs at his arms, tensing every muscle in his body, his head thrown back and his teeth clenched. He no longer cares about the pain in his wrists. Each stroke of the whip sends a stab of fire through him. It bursts in his head in blooms of blinding white light. It ripples down his torso to his cock, prickling to its very tip.

  Gretel pauses and he opens his eyes and gazes down at her. He unclenches his fists, his palms slick with sweat. Gradually, his breathing slows. ‘Now your ass,’ she says. She winks. Hansel wonders if she knows how arousing he finds the pain. How he longs to know what the bite of her whip on his ass will feel like.

  She moves behind him and runs the thongs
across his butt. He shudders. He hangs his head forward and closes his eyes, waiting. He hears the rustle of her skirts as she pulls the whip back, the whoosh as it flies through the air. It lands hard on his left cheek. He cries out. His body jerks forward, pulling him onto tiptoes, the ropes digging into his ankles. As soon as he straightens up, whoosh, the whip lands again. She beats him over and over, faster and harder than she beat his nipples. The strokes blend into an exquisite ache deep within his flesh. He unconsciously begins to stick his ass out as far as the ropes will allow, begging for more. He feels all the tension leave his butt, the muscles become soft and pliant. His cries of pain become groans of helpless lust and then one continuous moan of longing.

  The beating stops. He hears Gretel move round to face him, but it is a long moment before he can lift his head and open his eyes to look at her. When he does, she raises one eyebrow. Hansel manages a weak, embarrassed smile.

  ‘You seem to be enjoying this,’ she says. ‘But it’s time we were going.’

  ‘You haven’t done my thighs,’ he moans.

  ‘I can do that once we’ve escaped,’ she says with a wink. ‘I’m just going to see what the witch is doing.’

  The prospect of Gretel leaving him makes him suddenly afraid. ‘Let me down first,’ he says.

  ‘No, if she suspects anything we’ll have no chance. I’ll check she’s busy, then I’ll come back.’

  With Gretel gone, Hansel feels abandoned. His beaten flesh throbs and the ropes bite into his ankles and wrists. The heat of the fire in the hearth is unbearable. He longs for his lover’s return. But she has been gone too long. Hansel hears raised voices.

  ‘You have disappointed me girl,’ the witch shrieks. ‘You showed such promise with the whip and now I find you spying on me and plotting escape. You will suffer for this, as will your beloved Hansel.’

  There is a moment’s silence. Hansel’s cock droops as icy fear grips him. But he hears Gretel reply in a voice as authoritative as the witch’s.