Chapter 1

There once lived a man, named Jack, and a woman, named Diane, who always wished for a child, but could not have one. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen. The garden was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to a cranky witch, who had great power and was feared by all who lived in the village.

Truth be told, the witch was cranky because she, too, was unable to conceive a child. But that's because she was nasty and ugly to boot. Plus what man wants to chance disappointing a witch in the sack? I mean there are worse things than being turned in to a frog.

In any case, one day Diane was standing by the window, folding smocks and jerkins, and glanced into the garden. Her eyes fell on a lush bed of rapunzel, which is an old nickname for a herb with leaves like lettuce and roots like a radish, also called rampion. It looked so fresh and green that she longed for some with which to make a salad. People back then already knew about the South Beach Diet, even though there was no South Beach and they didn't think of it as being on a diet. They just ate what they could get, which wasn't much, and contained almost no sugar or bad carbohydrates. Dr. Agatston would have been proud.

But I digress. Diane lusted after the rampion and, knowing that she could not get any of it, grew more pale and miserable each day.

Jack, being an observant man, noticed his wife's funk and asked "What is wrong, my dear?"

"Ah," she replied, "if I can't eat some of the rapunzel from the witch's garden behind our house I think I shall die."

Jack, who loved her, thought, "Well her dying would never do, so I shall find a way to obtain my heart's desire what her heart desires." He puffed out his chest and added the thought: "No matter what the cost!"

And so it was that that evening, he climbed over the wall into the garden of the witch, grabbed a double handful of rapunzel, stuffed in his trousers so both hands would be free, and scaled the wall again. His wife was waiting for him and, ignoring the fleshy root amidst all that greenery, she extracted her heart's desire, immediately made a salad of it, and ate it all up.

She would have liked it in any case, but the fact that her husband had braved the dangers of being caught by the nasty, ugly, powerful witch, made her like it even more. And she rewarded him with the only thing of value she had.

"Come with me to bed most instantly!" she yipped, throwing off her blouse, or jerkin, or smock, or whatever they called whatever she threw off. The point is that her pale, pear shaped breasts hung delightfully naked in the moonlight. Jack, of course, was only too happy to give her the rest of what was in his trousers, or trews, or tights, or whatever they called them, and gleefully exposed his root, which was summarily planted in Diane's garden, which was soon lustily seeded.

Diane knew a good thing when she had it. So the very next day she exposed significant cleavage to Jack and said "How I wish I had more rapunzel from the garden. It makes me so horny!"

Jack wasn't stupid, and that very night he scaled the wall again, wearing looser trews or - well, you know the deal. He wanted more room, so he could transport more rampion.

His crotch was well stuffed when he heard a gravelly voice clear what sounded like a horribly ugly throat.

He looked up in the darkness which, thankfully, shielded his eyes from the true ugliness of the witch.

"What the fuck?!" demanded the witch. "You don't understand walls?

"My most sincere apologies," gasped Jack, who had been told that polite discourse will resolve almost any difficulty. "My wife pined for some of your delicious, nutritious rapunzel. We have none, nor any place to grow any, since this garden takes up all the room ... so I thought..."

"You thought you could purchase some rapunzel from me with a nice, long, juicy fuck!" crowed the witch.

"Um ... no," said Jack, weakly. "It was more along the lines of just stealing it. I mean you have plenty."

"Plenty of rapunzel, yes," croaked the witch. "Plenty of hot man meat stuffed up into my oven, no," cooed the old woman. When a witch coos, it comes out sounding like gravel being ground into sheet metal by water buffalo hooves.

"I c-c-can't," moaned Jack. "I have a bad case of ED. My member shan't cooperate at all, I fear."

"Oh pu-leease," creaked the witch. "I heard your wife wailing her happiness last night. I could scarce sleep because of it. It actually got my poor empty pussy all wet to hear her joy at being prodded so well. So don't tell me you have an Excitement Deficiency problem. Witches might buy that ED crap in a couple hundred years, but not today, bucko."

"Please don't make me," whined Jack.

"Why not? I thought all men were randy all the time. What's the deal? Am I ugly or something?" Her voice sounded dangerous.

But Jack had been raised to always tell the truth ... no matter what.

"Well ... actually ... yes," he said.

"How about that?" said the witch, sounding surprised. "A man who actually tells the truth. Will wonders never cease?" She scowled at Jack which, fortunately, he couldn't see because of the dark. "Tell you what," she said. "Give me your first born daughter and we'll call it even."

"I don't have a daughter," said Jack.

"You will," said the witch.

"We've been trying for years," moaned Jack. "What if my wife is barren?"

"She's not," said the witch. "Most especially if she's been eating veggies stolen from my garden. They're special. Oh, the veggie tales I could tell you about my magical greens."

"If you say so," said Jack. "Could I possibly leave now? I could get right to work on that first born daughter," he said hopefully.

"You may go after you have eaten this," said the hag, producing a cucumber of prodigious proportions.

Jack gingerly took the vegetable, which was easily ten inches long and as big around as his wife's not so delicate wrist.

"I can't eat this whole thing," he moaned.

"If you can't eat that, you can eat me," offered the crone, gleefully.

"I can't believe I ate the whole thing," groaned Jack. "My poor stomach is bulging,"

Diane chewed a mouthful of the delicious rampion until she could swallow.

"That's not all that's bulging," she commented.

Jack looked down. All he could see was his belly, which was unusual, because normally Jack was as skinny as a rail.

"Huh?" he replied.

Diane held up a finger, signing for him to wait, and finished her salad. Then she knelt in front of her husband. Her hands went to either side of his bulging belly.

"You look as if you're with child," she giggled.

"That's not funny," he groaned. "I'm not at all sure I'll be able to reap the reward of getting caught, because I'll crush you like a bug if I lie upon you! You're not the one who had to eat an entire massive cucumber!"

He felt her fingers fumbling with the ties to his trews, and heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Oh my," she sighed. "Do I get to eat something else that's suddenly massive?"

"Huh?" Jack tried to bend forward to look beyond his stretched stomach. He felt something delightful in his groin and suddenly his wife's hand appeared holding what appeared to be a rutabaga or some such thing. His eyes saw her smallish hand squeeze the rosy, red round looking thing, and his brain impressed on him that it was no vegetable she was fondling, but his manhood instead!

"Is that me?" he squeaked, though in a most manly way.

"It is indeed, my love," said Diane, licking her lips.

Diane got her bellyful that night, both in terms of a delicious salad, and magically enhanced seeds for her garden. Indeed, Jack's "infirmity" proved to be permanent, which softened the emotional blow of having to give up her first born daughter to the witch as payment. That blow was softened even more when Diane's awakened womb filled again quite rapidly. In fact, she had so many children that poor Jack was worked to death to support them. When she remarried was when she learned it wasn't Jack's manhood that was magic. It was all those greens that had greened up her reproductive system. She continued to have children, until she was famous. They even wrote a nursery rhyme about her when her second husband ran away, leaving her with so many children she didn't know what to do.

But again, I digress.

Meanwhile, back at the magical cottage, Witch Hazel (for even witches have names, you know, ) had taken the baby girl and cuddled her to her shrunken, withered breast, whereupon a spark of something akin to positive emotion glowed briefly in the hag's hapless heart.

"You're magically delicious," she cooed at the babe. "I shall, of course, name you Rapunzel."

Then her heart hardened again.

"But none other shall ever taste of your delights, for you are all mine," she said.

And so, she caused a tower to arise, using complex magic that created a structure with no door, and but a single window, high up below a conical roof. That window led to a small room, in which poor Rapunzel grew up. And what, you ask, was the rest of the tower for? It contained the mystical magic that produced food, and water, and clothing and so on and so forth, all of which was for Rapunzel. And diaper disposal, of course which, truthfully, took up about eighty percent of the space the first few years. Some things never change.

But eventually the girl grew, until she could speak and sing. And singing, being pretty much the only thing Rapunzel had to do, was something she did very well. Her dulcet tones drifted out of the tower window and into the forest, where birds and squirrels and all manner of creatures routinely suspended their daily routines to sit and listen raptly. Had there been a Medieval England's Got Talent, then Rapunzel would have been a shoe-in for the top four.

But how, you might ask, did Witch Hazel ever get to change all those diapers and delight in her daughter if there were no doors into the tower?

Well, for the first few years, Hazel did call on her magic. But levitation magic is quite tiring, especially if you eat too much and exercise too little, which was Hazel in spades. Eventually, though, she expended a little magic on the girl too, and after that all she had to do was stand beneath the window and cry:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

For you see, with magical influence, and never having had even a trim of her hair, Rapunzel grew magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold. She had so much of it, in fact, that she had to keep it in long, thick braids to keep from suffocating in it should she inadvertently turn over in her sleep. And so, when ever she heard the words of the woman she thought of as her mother, she wound a couple of turns of her braids round one of the hooks of the window, and then let the rest fall down the side of the tower, whereupon the witch climbed up it.

Now I know you're gnashing your teeth, or at least gritting them a little, as you consider the plight of poor Rapunzel ... locked in her tower ... having no education ... no friends ... no fun at all. But you must remember that, as a kitten born with no eyes is not aware it is blind, and goes through life thinking it is quite normal that the world is a black place where only sounds and smells and vibrations are your guide, so also did Rapunzel think that her little world was all there was in the world.

And so she wasn't unhappy at all.

Until one day a prince was riding through the forest, saw the tower, and stopped to admire its unique architecture. Then he heard the most beautiful singing, and sat, frozen to his saddle until he saw Rapunzel lean out the window to check and see if it was raining. Her beauty struck him a hammer blow in his chest, which caused him suddenly to think of pushing tab A into slot B. This particular prince had received training as an engineer, you see.

He was about to speak to the dazzling beauty when he spied a bundle of rags moving magically toward the tower. The bundle of rags turned out to be an old hag who, when her face was exposed as she looked upwards toward the lone window in the tower, gave pause to the prince's poor peter.

"Now that's oooooo-gly," he said softly to himself. "She is perhaps the most horrifically dismal looking woman, I have ever laid eyes upon." His horse became restless under him and shifted. He patted it's neck. "Fear not, noble steed," he said. "Eyes are all I shall ever lay on that one. You have my promise on that."

He watched as the crone stopped under the window and called up:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the witch climbed up to her.

This, of course, gave the prince pause, and our pausing prince thought long and hard. Not being a dullard, the prince had come to believe that the beautiful girl, the love of his life - never mind they hadn't met yet - was named Rapunzel, a name that rolled off the tip of his tongue and brought his lips together in what was clearly preparation for a kiss. Several if he got his way. Dozens if he was lucky.

His princely penis reminded him it did not wish to be left out of the festivities, whenever they should come to pass. He didn't speak to the unruly member - what sane man would? - but he did reflect on the fact that while his five brothers were randy sorts who routinely bedded anything in skirts that would let them, he was as yet unsullied. He was, in fact, pure as the driven snow, when it came to experience of the bedroom sort.

Well, personal experience, anyway. When you have five brothers who happily hump every chamber maid in the castle, it's inevitable that you'll stumble upon it happening now and then. Suffice it to say he knew what his tuminescent tool was intended to be used for. He had just never found a woman that it seemed worth all that squishing and thrusting and groaning and gasping for. He was quite sure it was fun. It just looked like it was also so much work!

The prince's reflections were interrupted by the hag appearing in the window. Her broad buttocks filled it as she backed out and began climbing down the rope of golden hair. The prince winced. Even from this distance it was obvious the hag weighed ten stone over a full load. His hand came up and pulled at his own shoulder-length tresses. He was amazed that the beautiful voice did not let out a cry of pain.

But she didn't, and soon the hair had been pulled back up into the tower. The voice began singing again, and the prince was struck immobile anon. It wasn't until it was fully dark that she relented, and the prince was able to crawl down off his horse and make camp for the night. Normally he went to an inn, and dined and slept in comfort. But to leave that voice and that face was suddenly impossible. A bed consisting of a blanket, and some cold meat and bread were worth knowing that, should she sing again, he'd be there to hear it.

As he lay curled in his blanket, the prince's attention was once again drawn to his pants, wherein his royal stub wasn't so stubby any more. It had, in fact, inflated to prodigious proportions, as the sweet voice of Rapunzel, having starved most of the prince's muscles of blood, had to direct it somewhere else. And so he found that he needed to loosen his pants, to relieve the uncomfortable strain. In the process his hand brushed his manhood, which craved being touched at the moment. Shortly, Mother Nature being skilled at helping young men discover such things, the prince's hand was firmly grasping the pommel of his shortest sword, and then the hilt itself, which seemed to need to be stroked, as if he were oiling it. Except, of course, there was no oil on his hand.

Mother Nature, always there to support young men on their voyage of discovery, soon supplied that as well.

The prince woke to the gravelly sounds of a deep voice saying:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

He got up slowly, his body complaining about sleeping on the ground in the form of aches and pains. He could only see the top half of the tower from where he was, but that golden rope had been lowered and soon he saw the hag climbing up. Not being a complete idiot, as princes are sometimes wont to be, he suspicioned that the hag might be involved in the dark arts. He had seen no evidence of magic, but why else would the love of his life be sequestered in a tower with no entrance save her own hair? And anything that ugly had to be a witch. Otherwise wild dogs would have taken it down years ago.