Jill and the Beanstalk

Once upon a time, there was old man who had a beautiful daughter named Jill. When the old man died, the lord of the land took all the old man had, as death dues, except for a sick old cow and the cottage they had lived in. But the rent on the cottage would fall due on Michaelmas, and then that would be taken as well. So Jill took the cow to market, to get what little she could for it.

On the way to the market, Jill met an old crone.

“And where are you going, my pretty?” the crone asked.

“I am going to market, to sell this fine cow,” Jill answered. “And then, with a small fortune in hand, I will seek a larger one.”

The crone looked at the cow with her one good eye. “That cow ain’t worth much,” she said. “But I will trade you a bag of magic beans for it.” She fixed her eye on Jill, and held up a small sack.

“Very well,” Jill said, “I agree.” For the cow was old and sick, and so worth little more than even a sack of ordinary beans. So the exchange was made, and Jill returned to the cottage.

Jill didn’t look into the sack until after she returned, and then she saw that it contained small chips of wood, with only a few beans among them. “Well!” Jill told herself. “Perhaps I was not so clever after all. Then again, if these are magic beans, their number won’t matter so much.” So she scattered the contents of the sack over the small garden plot behind the cottage. Then she went to bed, and there she dreamed of a wealthy lord who would give her silks and gold chains, who would feed her the finest dainties, and who would take her to the softest, most scrumptious feather bed imaginable.

The next morning, Jill saw that the beans had sprouted and grown. Grown great indeed, with the vines at thick as the trunks of young trees. Growing up and up and up, until Jill could not see the top, for the bean-vines had snagged a great cloud. “Well! This looks promising!” Jill said to herself, and she stuck her shoes into her girdle and began to climb.

Soon enough she reached the cloud, and found it to be solid on top, with a path paved with white marble. The path led to a hunting lodge, built all of red wood and gray stone, but with a floor of the same white marble as the path. In the hall of the lodge stood a tall table with tall chairs all around it, and an enormous fireplace in which a low fire burned, with a great black kettle in which something simmered.

To the right and left stood stout wooden doors. Jill peaked through the right-hand door and saw a bedroom, with bear skins, wolf pelts, and the fleece of wooly mountain sheep piled high on the bed. And then a net came down over her head, trapping her like a bird caught by a fowler. She struggled and fell to the floor, and the more she struggled, the more helplessly entangled she became.

“Ha ha ha!” laughed the giant who had caught her. “You thought I would make a noise, did you? Shaking the ground and roaring out like some dumb ox with a pain in its belly. ‘Fe fi fo fum!’ “ he quoted, “ ‘I smell the blood of an Englishman!’ “ He bent down poked her with a thick finger. “But you’re no man at all. You’re a woman – and a pretty one, too.”

Jill looked from where she lay caught, on the white stone of the floor. The giant stood half again as tall as her, and Jill was as well-grown girl, as tall as many men. Shaggy dark hair framed the giant’s face like a lion’s mane, and brown eyes gleamed as he looked back down at her. “Name yourself, girl,” he said. “Or I will put a name of my own choosing on you.”

“My name is Jill,” she said, plucking up her courage. “And what name should I call you by?”

“You shall call me ‘Master Giant.’ For that is who and what I am.” He grinned at her. “And what am I to do with you, pretty Jill? I know! I’ll simmer you in a cauldron and have you for dinner. Here, you won’t need these.” Master Giant snatched Jill’s shoes from her girdle and tossed them aside. “Nor these, either.” He pulled away her girdle and her dress of home-spun.

Jill fought as hard as a wildcat, but with less effect, for the net still entangled her, and Master Giant had many times her own strength. In a trice he had her not only stripped naked but rope-bound, hand and foot, and gagged with a cloth of white linen as well. For as she put up her useless fight, Jill had used words that were not womanly at all.

So Master Giant picked up the bound and helpless Jill, making light of her weight, and carried her through to door on the left-hand side. In the tiled room beyond sat a great cauldron, with coppers of steaming water set out ready, and soap and towels as well. “In you go!” Master Giant said after filling the cauldron, and in Jill went, nude and bound, sitting in the hot water as Master Giant took a chunk of soap in his hand.

Soon enough Jill was simmering, for Master Giant had tied her well. Not only had he bound her wrists and ankles, and her thumbs and large toes as well, but he had also run a double-strand of rope between her legs, pressing taut against her lady-parts. More than that, his blunt-fingered hands made free with her bare skin as he soaped her and washed away the grime.

Then Master Giant gave Jill a silken dress to wear, clean and bright-colored, but also scanty, leaving her bare-armed and bare-footed. He lifted her into a tall chair at the tall table, with a plate of crystal before her and a silver fork and knife to either side. From the black kettle he dished out porridge, and when the porridge touched her plate it turned into the most savory roasted meats and the finest dainties. Just as it did with Master Giant’s own plate, where he sat at the table across from her. That was how Master Giant had Jill for dinner, and she ate better at his table than she had for many a day.

Afterwards, Master Giant bundled Jill into a truckle-bed, laying her on a soft fleece and covering her with a soft blanket. But he also locked gold chains on her wrists and on her ankles, lest she slip away during the night. So she slept the night through, dreaming of a valiant knight who would take her riding on a great white horse, to a meadow where his servants had spread a rustic feast upon the grass.

The next day, Master Giant unlocked the chains from Jill’s wrists, but kept her ankles fettered. He fed her breakfast from the great black pot, and the porridge transformed into sweet cakes and savory bacon when it touched the crystal plate. Then Master Giant set Jill to work.

“You are as weak as a kitten, pretty Jill,” Master Giant told her, “and you will grow as fat as an old hen, as well, if you just lay about.” So Master Giant set Jill to sweeping and mopping, and to drawing water from the well. The golden fetters on her bare feet hindered her little in this, but she could not run while wearing them, and she didn’t dare try to climb down the beanstalk while fettered so, even if she could reach it.

“Just as well,” Jill told herself. “There are too many fine things here to take them all away by stealth, and in all the stories where she isn’t rescued by a hero, the heroine has to kill the cruel and murderous monster by trickery.”

At noon, Jill ate lunch with good appetite, and then Master Giant put her in the cauldron to simmer again. Once again he bound her with his ropes: Hand and foot, thumbs and great toes, just as he had the day before. Afterwards, he dried Jill with a towel, and combed and braided her long hair, and finally he undid the ropes binding her. But then, instead of giving her back her bright but scanty silks, Master Giant looked up and down Jill’s nude body.

“What am I to do with you, pretty Jill?” Master Giant said with a grin. “I know! I’ll tie you to a whipping post, and blind you with a hot iron!”

As she had the day before, Jill fought like a wildcat, and as before Master Giant was too strong for her. With leather thongs he bound her to a stout post of oak, tying her so that she faced it, and on the wall beyond Jill could see three whips hanging, cruel and fierce. She shivered, waiting for Master Giant to return with the hot iron, for she feared that those whips might be her last sight in this world.

“Well!” Jill told herself. “It seems like I’ve come to a bad end after all. If this tale is to go on, it will have to be with another heroine. I doubt that a hero is going to show up at the last moment to rescue me.”

When Master Giant returned, he held a flatiron in one hand and a length of white linen in the other. Grinning at Jill, he set the linen on a board where she could see it, and she watched as he applied the iron and smoothed out all the wrinkles. Then the cloth went around Jill’s head, pleasantly warm from the iron, but also long enough to wrap several times, and so to cover Jill’s eyes completely.

Unable to see, Jill awaited the whip. She squeaked in surprise when she felt blunt fingers on her bare skin instead. Master Giant caressed Jill from her bare toes to the top of her head, his great hands taking turns to soothe and tease her. She felt him touch her everywhere: Over her feet, over her legs, and up her spine. On her lady-parts, on her belly, and around the nipples of her bare breasts. Along her sides, along her arms, and around the rims of her ears.

“Now now now, pretty Jill,” she heard Master Giant rumble. “I never said that I would use those nasty whips on your tender skin, did I?”

That night, as she slept in the truckle-bed, covered with a blanket and secured again with chains, Jill dreamed of a handsome prince who had decked her with jewels to present her to his cheering subjects. But in that dream, Jill had no clothes on, and her biggest piece of jewelry was a slave-collar, locked about her throat.

Jill woke to Master Giant unlocking the chains on her wrists, leaving her bare feet fettered, just as he’d done the day before. And just as the day before, Master Giant set Jill to work: Sweeping and mopping, hauling water and firewood, and cleaning cupboards and washing dishes. But this time Master Giant made Jill work all afternoon, as well as all morning, pausing only for a luncheon served on the tall table and eaten from the magic crystal plates.

At the end of the afternoon, Master Giant looked Jill up and down. “No simmering for you, pretty Jill,” he told her. “You’re hot enough already.” He hefted a wooden bucket. “Pour this water over yourself, pretty Jill, or I’ll do it for you.”

Jill smiled up at Master Giant. “You had better to it for me,” she said, and then she sputtered as he grinned and upended the bucket. Eyes shut against the water, Jill felt blunt fingers removing her wet clothing, and a soft towel drying her skin. Fresh silks followed, and Master Giant’s blunt-fingered hands lifting Jill to sit at the tall table for dinner.

Afterwards, Master Giant set Jill back on the white marble floor again and looked her up and down. Jill stood tall and proud before him. Barefoot, fettered, wearing bright and scanty silks, and with her long hair in a braid down her back, she looked back up at him without fear.

“What am I to do with you, pretty Jill?” Master Giant asked with a grin. “I know! I’ll pull your arms and legs apart, and feed you to my pet vulture!”

And once again Jill fought when Master Giant scooped her up. But this time she fought like a playing kitten, for all that she showed more strength than she had on the past two days. For now Jill was consumed with a kitten’s curiosity as to just what Master Giant intended.

“Well!” a small part of Jill’s mind told the rest of her. “If this curiosity kills me like a cat, it will be no more than I deserve. And if it doesn’t – it will be more than I deserve.”

Into the bedroom Master Giant carried Jill. But instead of putting her into the truckle-bed, he set her on top his own great bed. Ropes came out to wrap around each wrist and around each ankle, and Jill felt her silks being pulled away. As nude as she’d ever been, Jill found herself face-up, with each arm and each leg being pulled to a different corner of the bed.

If the cauldron had simmered Jill before, this bed now made her roast. She felt herself flush, she felt her nipples stiffen, and she felt herself grow juicy inside. Looking up she saw Master Giant for the first time without his tunic and trousers, and her eyes widened. The vulture roosted proudly between his legs. But it did not swoop in at once. Instead, Master Giant took his time, blunt fingers soothing and teasing, just as they had at the whipping post, but with the greater skill that they had learned on that day. Master Giant’s hands lingered over bare feet and bare legs, bare body and bare arms, and as Master Giant moved over Jill, the rest of his skin touched hers as well.

Jill fought the ropes, and the more she fought, the more excited she became. She found herself feeling grateful for the way they held her in place, for if ever she won a hand or foot free, Master Giant would have to stop, which was the last thing in the world that Jill wanted. And then the vulture began to feast, drawing forth pleasures and blissful wonders beyond Jill’s ability to describe, even as she did her best to put them into song.

“Please do that again, Master Giant.” Jill said. Her right ankle was still bound with rope, with the other end tied stoutly to the corner of the bed, but Master Giant had untied her other limbs. So now Jill could press her nude body against Master Giant’s, and could kiss him again and again.

“Do that again,” Jill said once more, “as many times as you like!”

Master Giant ran his great blunt-fingered hand down her back, with a touch that excited Jill not at all, for she found it utterly soothing and blissful, instead.

“That could take a long time,” Master Giant rumbled. “A long, long time.”

“I’ll stay here for however long it takes,” Jill promised.

And so she did, and so together they lived happily ever after.