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unconscious. “I mean,
you make them every day, so you must. So here’s what we’ll do.”
    Wicka pulled out a hammer and twirled it in a circle as
she approached Gretel. Gretel felt her heart flutter with fear. Images of being
struck in the head flashed before her.
    The woman tilted Gretel’s chair on its side so that Gretel
was lying sideways. Gretel shut her eyes, anticipating the blow wherever it may
land. She felt the chair shake at the sound of the hammer hitting wood.
Building up her courage, Gretel opened her eyes to see what the hunter was
doing. Wicka whacked the back leg of the chair until the chair leg cracked off.
The assassin spun Gretel onto Gretel’s other side and hammered off the other
back chair leg.
    She pulled Gretel by the chair and hoisted the chair
onto the food counter.
    Gretel sat on the counter with her legs hanging off.
The only difference was that she couldn’t move. What remained of the chair kept
her tied and immobile.
    Wicka dragged Hansel by the back of his chair to the
counter Gretel was on, and spun the chair around so that he faced Gretel, his
head level to her thighs.
    “Just pretend you have your own little oven in front of
you. Tell me what you need to cook something delicious in there.”
    Hansel’s mind seemed to be working. Gretel hoped he was
forming a plan to escape. He told Wicka, “Get me some popsicles from the
cooler.”
    Popsicles! Gretel shuddered at the very thought. What
was Hansel thinking? She watched helplessly as Wicka went to the transparent
door of the refrigerator-sized freezer, opened it, and pulled out a box of
rocket popsicles.
    Wicka padded back and placed the box in front of Hansel.
    Hansel tore open the box, removed an orange popsicle,
and tore it free from its wrapper.
    He held it up to Gretel’s face and asked, “Will you do
the honors and get it wet first? I know how much you like popsicles.”
    Gretel studied him. She hated popsicles. He knew that
about her. The way he looked at her with the almost imperceptible nod, it
seemed he was asking if she were willing to play along for something he had
planned.
    Only if my life
depended on it would I suck on a popsicle.
    He had a plan. Gretel knew to signal to him that she
was game.
    Gretel said, “Gladly.”
    He put the popsicle close to her lips.
    She gave him the show of his life. Keeping eye contact
at all times, she licked the orange tip on one side, then the other. She
slipped the tip in between her lips and sucked on the cold fruity ice, bobbing
her head slowly upon it.
    The cold sensation of the flavored ice may not have
been so great, but she loved how Hansel’s eyes popped wide. A quick glance at
his crotch where his cock still hung free revealed she was doing things to his
own popsicle.
    She took long licks from the base of the frozen
dessert, up to its tip on every side, making sure she made every side slick and
wet.
    Wicka said, “You are so sexy.”
    She had unzipped the front of her catsuit and had her
hands crossing her chest tucked inside, squeezing her breasts underneath.
    Hansel lowered the popsicle and brought it between Gretel’s
legs. “Ready?”
    Gretel nodded.
    He pushed the tip in. Gretel clenched her fists and
curled her toes. She shut her eyes tight and bit her lip. Cold! So cold! She
squeezed her entrance. Bad idea. The squeeze melted the entire tip of the
popsicle off inside of her. The cold numbed her on the inside.
    She then felt a hot tongue licking away the cold.
    She opened her eyes. Hansel had his head buried between
her thighs and was sucking at that bit of popsicle, which now felt like a cold
slush inside of her.
    He licked harder, with strong laps, warming back to
life her folds and entrance. Thank goodness he understood what she was going
through. He clearly worked at getting rid of the ice that was freezing her from
the inside out. And that meant heating her from the inside out with a lot of
tongue-lapping friction and lip sucking action.
    The cold turned into