Fairy tales (traditional), Rapunzel/Wicked Witch, deal
She was her mother’s sacrifice – for a salad, no less – but now she has made her own deal.
She had nothing to bargain with save body and hair, but both are worth sacrificing to end the loneliness.
And it’s strange - a woman’s hands cupping her breasts, a woman’s soft lips on her own – but she has known no other and cannot think of why she should find it so odd.
When she lies back and the witch crawls over her, spreading her legs and cooing over the moistness she finds between them, Rapunzel thinks briefly of her mother and father, and wonders if the fingers probing her wet heat will leave her with child as well.
She has already decided to keep it, even if it is half-witch, and is determined that if she should have a child, the witch should as well. She tries, in each of these strangely intimate encounters, to touch as she is touched – with fingers and tongue pushing and teasing in a heatedly pleasurable way – but the witch is wily and nimble and pulls away from Rapuzel’s fumbling attempts at love-making to smile crookedly at her.
“It is not part of our deal,” The dark woman cackles, bringing the flame of Rapuzel’s passion to its apex and watching the girl tremble underneath the weight of such pleasure.
She has made her own deal, she knows. She has made it as her mother had, blinded to the consequences by desire.