02

Chapter 1: The craving

Greta moved ponderously around the small home she shared with Hans, her merchant husband, one hand frequently coming to rest upon her swollen belly as she did her best to perform her daily tasks, despite her particularly gravid state. Even with the difficulties, a smile kept forming on her lips as she tidied and dusted. It had been ten years since she married the handsome, if somewhat simple minded Hans, ten years in which she had failed to get with child. If not for Dame Gothel, in fact, she would not now be expecting her first born, but living next door to a professional enchantress had turned out to prove beneficial, though the fertility charm had cost them dearly.

Taking a break from her housework, Greta drifted over to stand by the window of the bedroom, a second story chamber that overlooked the neighbouring garden, and glanced down at the lush greenery of that immaculate yard. It was then that she noticed something new. Tucked away in the very back of the garden, by the wall that separated their much smaller garden from Dame Gothel's was a plot of seemingly newly turned earth that was quite at odds with the mature radish plants that seemed to have grown there overnight.

Greta stood as though transfixed, and a longing sprang into her heart as keen as that stirred by the frequent amorous attentions of her husband as she stared at the green leaves that grew from the earth. One of the roots had been pulled up, its rich redness seeming to call to her as she looked down upon it, and a craving such as she had not experienced in the previous eight months of her pregnancy came over her. She wanted those radishes.

That night, Greta served a fine lamb stew to her husband, yet sat despondently picking at her own food.

"My love, are you unwell?" Hans asked, gazing at her with his guileless blue eyes.

She quickly smiled a reassurance, fully aware of the dangers that sharing her secret craving would entail. Hans would think only of making her happy, never stopping to consider the possible consequences of stealing from the temperamental enchantress.

"No, Hans. I am just not feeling hungry. The baby is kicking, and my back is sore."

Hans immediately rose, circling the table to where she sat. Strong arms wound around her, scooping her up and carrying her off to the bed they shared upstairs.

"I know how to make you feel better," he whispered into her ear.

She managed to laugh weakly, batting at his arms. "Hans, don't. I am far too fat for that sort of thing, right now. Put me down."

Laying his wife in the middle of the bed, Hans could only gaze down at her. "Greta, you are more beautiful now than you have ever been. Let me do this for you. You have done so much for me. Given me ten happy years as my wife, loved me, and now..." His hand reached out, stroking over her belly. "Now, you carry my child, and will soon come to term." His hand slid down, between her thighs, pressing his palm to her. "Let me make you feel better. I would do anything for you."

A tingle of desire grew within Greta's belly, dampening the folds hidden under her skirts. Hans always had that effect on her, and if the desire was muted by her increasingly strong craving for the radishes, then it was at least a slight distraction. Her thighs parted, and that was all the invitation Hans needed.

His hands moved to unbutton her bodice, baring her ripening breasts, already beginning to swell with milk, and he dropped his head to suckle upon one nipple as his hands next moved to draw up her skirts, so that his fingers could delve into bared flesh. Finding the small pearl hidden in those folds, he began to stroke and tease, until he felt his wife starting to writhe slowly under his ministrations.

Grabbing a pillow from the top of the bed, he laid it down beside Greta, then rolled her gently to her side, letting the weight of her belly rest on the pillow as he lifted one of her legs, bent at the knee, exposing her slackened cunt to his eyes.

"So beautiful," he breathed, as his hands moved to unfasten his trousers and free his hardened cock. Settling behind his wife, Hans moved to slide into her, drawing a gasp of pleasure from Greta. Years of marriage and frequent lovemaking had left him familiar enough with her body that he knew just how to move to bring her pleasure, and this he started to do, thick cock moving in long, but gentle strokes so that the sensitive tip grazed over that one spot buried within her.

"Hans," she moaned, hips starting to rock against him. "So good... please, my husband. I need this... harder, please."

Those words erased all thoughts of the baby he was being so careful of in the overwhelming need to please his wife, and his hips slammed forward, filling her in one fierce thrust.

Greta found herself gasping and moaning, body moving frantically back against her husband as he fucked her. The desire was there, and the pleasure, yet for once, it simply wasn't enough. He always brought her to shuddering climaxes, but tonight, that pinnacle of pleasure eluded her. It felt wondrous, yet frustrating, as the pleasure built and built, yet failed to reach its conclusion. Always, always, that craving kept her pleasure muted just enough that she could not culminate their lovemaking, no matter that her own fingers were now between her thighs, pinching and stroking at her engorged clit while her other hand toyed with an overly sensitive nipple.

"Can't... hold off," Hans groaned, a sound of near despair in his voice, knowing he had not managed to give his wife the pleasure he had intended. Yet, his own was not to be denied, throbbing cock demanding release. With a last, loud cry, he rammed himself home, spurting into her slickened pussy, though his own pleasure was dimmed by his inability to please.

Afterwards, the two lay in bed, Hans' strong arms wound around his wife. "I'm so sorry, Greta," he murmured, sounding like a puppy that had just been kicked.

"Love... do not worry about it. I told you that I wasn't feeling my best. I am sure that, come morning, I will be much improved."

Those words, however, proved to be a lie. Her appetite was completely gone, and her energy seemed to be draining. Day after day passed, and Greta sickened for wanting of the radishes in Dame Gothel's garden. Nothing Hans could do could make her smile, yet she refused to admit to him what the problem was.

It wasn't until the third night, as Greta tossed and turned in her sleep that Hans learned the root of her trouble.

"Radishes," she mumbled, deep in her dream and unaware of what she was doing. "I shall die if I do not have Dame Gothal's radishes."

Immediately, Hans' handsome face lit up in a smile. "Oh, Greta, why didn't you tell me?" he whispered to his sleeping wife. "Such an easy thing, silly, beautiful, perfect wife of mine."

And so, he slid from their bed and dressed in the dark, then stole quietly from the house on a mission to get for his wife what he knew she wanted so very badly.

Chapter 2: The Theft

Hans had little difficulty in scaling the wall that stood sentinel between his little garden, and the considerably more expansive one that bordered it, in spite of the veil of darkness night had drawn across the world. A thin sliver of a silver moon floated serenely in the sky above him, and he knew it would fade to darkness two nights hence. To his surprise, he found easily reached hand and footholds in the stone walls, too irregular to appear manmade, yet placed with an unexpected regularity in the wall. A wiser man might have wondered about this, in the wall of a known enchantress, but though Hans was a good man and loyal husband, his wits were not at their best. His kind heart and handsome face had seen him through life, and he was content with what he had been given.

Reaching the top of the wall, he swung over and dropped lightly into the garden. Only a brief glance was cast at the elegant house, noting a single lit window on the topmost floor. But the radishes were conveniently placed only a few steps from where he had landed, and so he scurried over and scooped up a handful of the vegetables were they lay exposed in freshly turned earth. In short order, he was back over the wall and heading back to the kitchen.

Greta awoke the next morning to find a smiling Hans seated next to her on the bed. "Good morning, love," he whispered. "I know this isn't exactly typical breakfast fare, but..." Smiling, he offered out a bowl of salad, topped with carefully sliced radishes, the white meat of the inner root standing stark against the red of the outer skin.

Greta's eyes went wide as she stared, entranced. "Hans, what have you done?" she breathed, horror and desire mingling in her voice.

"Do not worry, wife. It is only a few radishes. Surely, she won't mind, and besides, you need them. I would risk anything for you."

The nearness of the radishes was too much, with their peppery scent teasing her nose, and Greta soon grabbed the bowl and made short work of the salad.

After thanking Hans in a most energetic fashion, Greta sent him off to do his business, and spent the rest of the day feeling better than she had since first seeing the radishes. Yet, as the sun began to sink, she found herself back at the window that overlooked the gardens, at the radish plants growing next door, and the craving began anew.

Hans did not fail to notice the return of his wife's malaise, and so for a second time, he scaled the walls of the garden. This time, only two of the radishes were uprooted, and so he used his fingers to dig up a few more, casting an occasional worried glance towards the lit window before collecting his bounty and hurrying back to his wife.

The third day was much the same as the last, with the cravings abated until sundown, only to return stronger than ever. Hans returned from his daily work to find Greta on her knees, moaning in distress.

"Don't go back there, Hans," Greta panted. "It is too dangerous."

But, the faithful Hans would hear nothing of it. For the third time, he scaled the wall under the cloak of night, only to find no uprooted radishes. Falling to his knees, he ignored the house completely as he scrabbled in the dirt, hardly able to see in the dark of the new moon.

He had no warning whatsoever as a slim but firm hand slid into his hair, grabbing a handful and jerking it back as the cool blade of a knife tickled his throat.

"Well, well," purred a voice from behind him. "A thief, I see. So, it is you who has been stealing from me... and after all I have done for you." Her perfume reached him, heady and darkly seductive, and he knew it was the enchantress behind him.

"Now, my fine man, you are mine. Your life is mine, forfeited by your theft of my property." A soft spill of unfamiliar words followed, musical but unsettling, and Hans felt his arms wrenched behind his back and bound there by invisible chains.

With a whisper of velvet skirts, the enchantress moved around to stand before him. She was a lovely creature, raven black hair spilling freely down to the small of her back, ice blue eyes startling in her pale face.

"Such a handsome man," she purred. "I shall enjoy you before I kill you." Her head canted to one side. "Perhaps, if you please me enough, I may even reconsider taking your life."

Her hands moved to unfasten her gown and let it fall, and she settled down onto the ground, limbs pale in the starlight. Hans felt himself forced to shuffle forward on his knees, as though on puppet strings.

"Pleasure me," came the stern command. "Only your mouth... and be thorough, my pet. Your life hangs in the balance."

Now, Hans had no desire to be unfaithful to Greta, but he also knew that if he died, she would be left with nothing, and no one, the laws of the land not allowing a woman to inherit property. So, he bent his head, finding one of Dame Gothel's nipples and drawing it into his mouth, producing a throaty moan from the witch.

"Good, pet. Very good." He felt one of her hands, then, gliding down his belly, then unfastening his pants and reaching within to tease him with light touches, her other hand finding his hair again.

Hans suckled and licked at her breasts, then trailed kisses down her flat belly to delve between her thighs, finding her wet and ready for him. His tongue probed and lapped, lips catching the tiny bud of her clit to draw it into his mouth. He had always been a most attentive lover, with a deep desire for the pleasure of women above his own, and had refined his talents. Alternating between nibbling and suckling at that throbbing little nub and moving to delve his tongue into her cunt and scrape it against her walls, he soon had the sorceress panting and bucking her slim hips up against his mouth, though there was never any question of who was in control.

For her part, Dame Gothel merely toyed with her prisoner, her touches never enough to do more than tease and frustrate, save for near the end when she gripped him hard in her hand, jerking his body around to take him into her own mouth, there to work his cock in deep, so very deep, until her throat swallowed him whole, driving him to further heights of effort.

He felt her tighten beneath him, then, growing tense, then suddenly, he was released from her mouth as her cries of exultation filled the garden, nails raking at his inner thigh, then shoving him hard to land on his back, driven half mad with unfulfilled desire.

For long moments he laid there, before he heard a rustle. The witch arose, donning her gown, and came to stand over him, smirking somewhat. "Having problems, pet?" she purred, and when he nodded, she chuckled. "Good. You deserve this torment. It is part of the payment. Now, then. I know that you stole those radishes for your wife. That matters not to me. I was going to simply take your lives in exchange, but... no. I think, instead, that it is the babe I shall take. It will be a girl, and she will be mine. It is a kindness I do, for she will live in the sort of luxury that you could never give her... but she will be mine."

She snapped her fingers, and the invisible bonds around his form released.

"Now, get out of my sight, and do not return. I shall come when your little bitch begins her labor and claim what his mine."