Jack and the Beanstalk

by Lubrican

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Chapter One

You've all heard the tale.  You heard it as a wee child, no doubt, about how some beans got dropped on the ground and there grew from those beans a giant beanstalk, which Jack climbed up and so and so forth.

And some of what you heard was true.  But there was much you didn't hear, because the goodwives of the little village where Jack lived suppressed it...censored it.  They forbade that it be told.

Those frowning women enforced a ban on talking about it.  They didn't mind using the rod to enforce it either, which is why no one knew the whole truth of the matter...until now.

You see, the only person they couldn't control was Jack himself.  And Jack, as it turned out, kept a journal of his exploits.  That journal lay hidden, in a clay pot sealed with wax drippings, until, quite by accident, it was dug up by the plow of a farmer.  That was many, many years later, after the land Jack had lived on changed hands many, many times.

That farmer had no idea that the ground he was plowing had once been the foundation of Jack's house, now long gone.  He was a simple man, who hadn't learned his letters.  When he found the pot, with the book inside, he thought only to keep the pot, which was fine work, and use the pages of the book to start his evening fire in the stove in his house.

How that journal was saved would make a story of its own, but we'll skip over that part.  Suffice it to say that the traveler who sheltered in the old farmer's hut that night, and who saw the journal and glanced through it, took action.  He would not allow it to be burned, and paid a full copper penny to procure ownership of it.

Now I, your humble author, have possession of the journal.  And I paid much more for it, so listen closely, to the whole truth behind Jack and the beans that changed his life forever.

An admission is necessary, before we begin.  Jack was a smart lad, but spare with the stub of pencil he had to write with and the few pages he had upon which to write.  Some small license has been taken to flesh out his comments.

The first correction to the record is that Jack was adopted.  The story has him living with his mother and sister, but they were not blood relatives.  In truth, Farmer Spriggins was a man who hated farming.  His wife wouldn't do it, and she bore him only a daughter.  So he and his wife took in a waif, a boy who could be made to do the heavy work.  As it turned out, Farmer Spriggins wasn't willing to do even the light work, and wasn't willing to wait for the boy to get big enough to do ALL the work.  He abandoned his entire family to go off and find his fortune.  Since he was never heard from again, it is doubtful he found much more than he left.

At the time his journal begins, Jack was a lad of but sixteen summers.  He lived with his mother, Elizabeth, and his sister, Coreen, who was two years older than Jack.  They resided in a small village in England, far off the beaten path from anywhere, it seemed.

Jack had been taken in, as they call it, when he was eight.  His new father had disappeared only two years later, and since then Elizabeth had eked out a spare living by doing the laundry of those in the village who worked from dawn to dusk in the fields and had no time to wash their own clothes.

Now Jack had all the interests of any young man.  His problem, as it turned out, was that he had no way to pursue those interests.

For example, both of the women living in the house with him were quite comely.  His mother had dark, almost black hair, that hung clear to her heart-shaped buttocks, when it was down at night.  She had been blessed with full, firm breasts, upon which lay brown nipples that were stiff and erect at all times.  Her skin, save that of her hands, was as pale as cotton.  That her ribs showed was only because there was so little to eat in the house, and not a result of breeding.

Coreen inherited her mother's body, if not her looks.  Coreen's hair was as yellow as barley ready for the harvest.  She didn't wear it up, like her mother, but gathered it behind her and tied it with ribbons, every six inches or so.  Like her mother, she had wonderful, large breasts, but the nipples that graced them were of shocking pink.  Her skin was darker, by a few shades, than her mother's, and her ribs did not show, because Elizabeth, while she would deny her own hunger, tried never to give her children less than was needed for strong bodies.

That Jack knew these things is not so odd, by virtue of the fact that their hovel had but one large room, with one large straw mattress upon the old wooden bed frame.  All in the house bathed in the big tub beside the stove, and modesty was a luxury they couldn't afford.

The women were, in fact, so beautiful that they were outcasts in the village.  Young men did not stay in the village, always going off to find their fortune in a city, or adventuring, perhaps.  As a result, the only men around were those who were married and anchored to the home, where their hardworking and well worn wives were their companions.  Many a man's eye wandered toward the hut of the Spriggins women, which raised the ire of their wives.  An angry woman can make the life of her man a living hell, and it wasn't long before men no longer looked...nor talked to...the Spriggins women.

Jack did not feel bad about lusting after his mother and sister, because they were not, after all, of his bloodline.  On the other hand, most of his memories were of them as "Sister" and "Mamma."  Therefore, he felt it was uncouth to dream of doing the things with them that a young man often dreams of doing with a woman.

Jack was as uninteresting as his female relatives were spectacular.  Though not slight of frame, the muscles he had were a gift of birth, rather than from using them often.  He was of average height and average build, with an unkempt shock of brown hair that his mother cut at with a knife, every so often, but usually gave up on when he wouldn't sit still.

And Jack never sat still for long.  His mother and sister thought he was just full of energy, and bemoaned that fact on numerous occasions, when Jack got into trouble.  He rarely helped out around the house and seemed always to be out getting into difficult situations, whether it be stealing an apple from Mr. Brimley's orchard, trying to sneak a pie from the cooling shelf of the baker's window, or chasing the girls and lifting their skirts.

But Jack wasn't simply full of nervous energy.  Indeed, the lack of modesty in the house left him full of energy of a different kind.  As he grew, and viewed the private treasure that was so openly displayed in the house, he found that it caused...difficulties.

Such difficulties began one night when he climbed into bed with his mother and sister and, to his unending surprise, the thing that usually hung limply between his thighs grew strong and straight, like a stick of wood.  It being summer, and none of them having on nightclothes, this surprising development was impossible to hide.

Not that he would have hidden it.  He was fascinated by it, actually, and placed his hand upon it as a natural result of examining it.

"What are you doing?" asked Coreen.

"Look at my pecker!" gasped Jack.  "It's gone rigid!"

"What!?" yelled his mother, who was on the other side of Coreen.

She sat up and viewed the subject under discussion.

"You stop that this instant!" cried the poor woman.

"Stop what, mother?" asked Jack, his hand gripping the stiff column of flesh that jutted from his loins.

"Stop touching it!" she wailed.  "You'll go blind as a bat!"

"Keep that thing away from me!" shouted Coreen.  "It's bad enough there are no men to marry in this horrid place.  Be careful where you aim that, lest it get me with child and I remain unwed my entire life!"

"Go outside and make it go down!" ordered his mother, who, truth be known, had not removed her eyes from it since she first sat up.  It had been many years since she had seen a thing such as had brought her the only pleasure she could now remember in her sad, hard life.

Poor Jack.  He had no idea of how it had gotten this way, much less how to make it return to normal.  He did get up, and he did go outside, but his penis remained as rigid as ever.  Finally, he went back in.

"Mother, I don't know how to make it go away," he moaned.

Elizabeth covered her eyes with a hand.  "Well I certainly can't help you.  Coreen!  Help your brother!"

"Me!?" squealed the girl.  "I'll not touch it.  I've never touched one in my life!"

"Well, then," said her mother, "it's high time you did so you'll know what to do with one should you be so lucky as to find a man."

"But I DON'T know what to do with it," moaned Coreen.  "All I know is how dangerous they are!"

"Oh all RIGHT!" snapped Elizabeth.  "I'll show you, but one time only!"

What transpired then was to change Jack's life in many ways.  He was made to stand beside the bed, where both women knelt in front of him.  The first touch of his mother's hand on his prick was electric in its intensity.  Then he almost swooned as that hand slid...inward, stretching the loose skin around the tip until it seemed almost to break.  Surprisingly, it slid effortlessly past the crown, before she pulled it back toward them, covering the tip again.

She did but three short strokes in the time it took Jack to suck his lungs so full of air that they felt like they'd burst.  Then she turned it over to Coreen.

"Like that," she said, somewhat breathlessly.  It had been some time since she'd touched one herself, and she found it entirely too much to her liking.

Coreen's hand had a completely different feel.  Coreen's hands had not yet suffered from immersion into harsh, soapy water, like his mother's, which were rough to the touch.  Coreen's hand was soft and warm.  She gave the thing three or four tentative strokes.

"This isn't so bad," she said softly.  "I rather like its feel."

"You'll like it a lot more in another..."  Elizabeth's lips sealed tightly, before she could utter the final word: "place."

"When will it stop being so long...and warm...and hard?" asked Coreen, as her hand seemed to get the hang of stroking smoothly.

A long stream of white jetted from the tip of the organ, splattering all over Coreen's pale breasts.  One nipple all but disappeared in the deluge, as another spurt followed the first, and then two more followed that one.

"About now," sighed Elizabeth, who had not had a man, nor seen sperm in more than five years.

Jack sat down hard, on the dirt floor, which hurt his naked buttocks quite a bit.

"Oh my!" he sighed, ignoring the pain in his behind and concentrating on the delicious feeling in his penis.

Elizabeth's hands darted to press against her daughter's chest and came away thick with white spunk.  She rubbed her hands together industriously.

"Tis excellent for the skin, as I recall," she said, wiping her hands against her breasts for good measure.  "Rub it in, dear, but keep it away from between your legs."

"Ooooo," complained Coreen, who looked down at the mess on the front of her body.  "It's warm, but looks loathsome."

"That, my dear, is what makes a woman's belly swell until it fairly bursts with a child in it."  Her mother's voice was heavy with the gravity of her warning.

"Seems a messy way of making a baby," complained Coreen, who was trying to wipe the stuff into her skin, with little success.

"It's not messy at all, when a man spurts it up inside you," said Elizabeth, remembering the feeling of that.

"I don't see how that could be."  Her daughter sounded unconvinced.  "Surely that thing wouldn't fit inside a woman."

"When the time comes, daughter, it will fit.  Believe me.  You'll find that it fits well...and often if you're lucky."

Then they all went back to bed, and finally to sleep.

That incident changed things in the household.  Not that there was any increase in modesty.  Things went on as usual in that way, and Jack was exposed to the naked bodies of his mother and sister regularly.

What changed was that his reaction to that, which was just as regular, got him tossed outside, where he was expected to deal with the problem himself.  Coreen said it was too messy, and his mother refused to touch him.  He was told to handle things himself...quite literally...threat of blindness or not.

And so Jack learned to get himself off, which some scholars credit for the invention of the term "jack off," though this author views that theory with some skepticism.

All things considered, it wouldn't have been a miserable life, except for the fact that Jack found himself needing to jack off rather more frequently than once a day.  All he had to do was look at his mother or sister and imagine it was bed time and...presto.

It was for this reason that Mrs. Twilby, the candle maker's wife, was exposed to the sight of Jack...jacking off...in the middle of the day...as she brought her laundry to the Spriggins house.

Well, to say that things went suddenly downhill is shortchanging the vituperative manner in which Mrs. Twilby described the incident to her friends.  She claimed the boy exposed himself intentionally.  Somehow, in the telling, she came to describe the frantic avoidance of the lusty young man, and the frenzied actions she took to preserve her virtue from the slavering satyr she described the boy to be.

The amount of laundry Elizabeth had to do dropped sharply.

In the end, the cupboard was bare, and Elizabeth was forced to send Jack off with the family cow, to sell it, to obtain enough money to keep them from starving.  That it was a long journey, and that the cow had a habit of biting, didn't bother Elizabeth at all.

After all, it was Jack's fault that this had to be done.

Jack trudged along, his spirits sagging, pulling on the frayed rope that went round the cow's neck.  He was feeling very sorry for himself indeed.  He was, therefore, both surprised and happy when he saw a traveler in the distance, coming toward him.

Strangers were always a happy occasion, for they had news of the world outside, and sometimes a good story or two to tell, so Jack's step quickened.

The stranger turned out to be a queer looking fellow, all draped in a long cloak, with a hood over his head, and a stoop to his body, suggesting great age.

"Whither goest thou, boy?" came a gravelly voice from within the hood.

That also suggested great age.  Nobody talked like that anymore.

"I'm off to sell the family cow, so that we can get money, so that we can get food, so that we won't starve," said Jack.

"A poor plan, methinks," said the old man.  "What wilst thou do when the money is all spent?"

"I imagine we'll starve," said Jack, who wasn't stupid.

"Perhaps I canst remedy your dilemma."  The voice was soft.

"How so?"  Jack was interested, but kept an eye on the cow, which was edging toward him, its lips quivering.

"I possess five magic beans," said the old man.  "I'll trade thee for the cow, which I canst ride, to save my feet.  Thou canst plant the beans, which will flourish beyond thy wildest dreams, and have much to eat."

"Magic beans?"

"Most powerfully magic."

Now Jack had dreams.  Always before they had been only that-dreams.  But now, as he hurried back home, flush with excitement he was sure that since he had procured the magic beans in his pocket, his mother would be so pleased that...perhaps...she might ease the stiffness in his penis that night.

Alas, her reaction was not what he had dreamed.

She was irate.  She screamed at him.  She took the beans from his hand and flung them toward the little round window in the side of the cottage.

One went through, the other four bounced off the wall.  As his mother stormed away from him, still screaming at him for being duped, he found the four beans he still believed were magic and put them back in his pocket.  He couldn't find the one that went through the window.  It had been lost in the grass.

His mother's rage lasted long, and he was forbidden to sleep in the bed with them that night.

"Lie upon the cold, hard ground!" shouted his mother.  "Soon you'll be UNDER the cold, hard ground!  That's where we'll all be in a very short time, thanks to your stupidity!"

Coreen chimed in.  "Yes, your stupidity!"

He couldn't sleep.

It wasn't fair.

He resolved to run away.

He made it ten feet outside the cottage, in the dark, when he smashed into a tree.

"Except"...he thought to himself as he sat on the hard, cold ground..."there is no tree right there."

He got up and, in the moonlight, perceived the leafy thick vine that had...magically...sprouted and grown in but a few minutes.  It was as thick as a tree, and went up as far as he could see.  Somewhere up there were pods...and those pods would contain more beans.

He would show her.  He would show them both.  He'd climb that vine, harvest some beans, and then they'd have something to eat in the morning.  They'd have to apologize to him!

He climbed.

"Tis indeed strong magic!" thought Jack.  He had been climbing for what seemed like a long time, and ever upwards stretched the beanstalk.  He stopped to rest.  He was hungry.  "While I have yet to see a bean pod," he thought, "there are surely some up there somewhere, and I have four beans in my pocket."

He made a snack of one bean, nibbling around the edges until it cracked and he was able to consume it.  It was dry and he wished he had something to drink with it, but his stomach growled less, so he climbed some more.  It appeared to be morning, because the light grew as he climbed, but he knew he had only been working his way upward for no more than an hour.  It was odd, but then this whole beanstalk was odd.

He felt the wetness of mist and realized he had climbed clear into the clouds.  Up this high it was daylight, for all intents and purposes.  That helped, because the clouds shortened his view.  He'd never known how thick clouds were, but was correct in assuming that, sooner or later, he'd climb out of the cloud.  He was expecting that.

What he wasn't expecting was what he saw perched on top of the cloud he climbed out of.  He stopped, staring in awe.  It was a house...a huge house...and well built in the Tudor style.

Now the reader may pause and think it odd that there could be a house, sitting on a cloud.  But remember Jack had been climbing a magic beanstalk, magic being the operative word here.  And so, when Jack probed with his foot, and found solid ground beneath the swirling mists a leg span from the stalk, he jumped and found himself walking on air.  At least it looked like he was walking on air.  Then an errant breeze parted the mist at his feet and he saw that there was indeed something solid beneath his feet.

He approached the huge house without fear.  Jack had experienced nothing much in his short life that had caused fear in him.  England, in those days, was a peaceful and mostly sedate place.  Other than the odd dangerous spider, there was really not much to fear, and if one was careful, even spiders were not really a threat.

By stretching his arm upwards, he was able to reach the latch on the front door of the house.  He lifted it and stepped into the dim interior.

It was fascinating.  He felt a little like one of the dolls that Coreen had played with when he was younger.  Everything looked perfectly normal, except for the fact that everything was just enough oversized that he didn't fit in well.  There was a hearth he could walk into if he ducked a bit.  There were chairs, and a table, and paintings hung on the wall.  He couldn't get over how it looked like a doll house, with him as the doll, except that he was only half the size to fit in it properly.

His nose detected a delicious odor, and he followed the scent to a kitchen.  There, all semblance of normality was suspended.

It wasn't the accoutrements in the room that shocked him.  It was the giant in the room.

Well, it was the giantess in the room, to be precise.  For the large person was undoubtedly female in form.  And, to set another myth straight, "giant" is probably not a fair word, at least not in terms of how they are usually portrayed.

This woman wasn't twenty feet tall.  She was more likely about eight feet ten inches in height.  Jack couldn't know it, but she was about average for a woman of her race...or ethnicity...or whatever one calls being a giant.  Other than her amazing size, she looked quite normal.  That is to say that if she were walking toward you, and was some distance away, you'd simply think she was closer to you than she was.

Her hair was a burnished brown, that looked like copper mixed with brass, and it hung wetly down about four feet or so.  That was because she was in the process of washing it, while a stew simmered on the stove.  Jack's practiced eye viewed that stove with some discomfort.  One of his tasks was keeping the wood pile at home well stacked, so that if they ever had any food, his mother would be able to cook it.  This stove, he noticed, would take a "stick" that might measure as much as three or four feet long, and as thick as Jack was around.

But he didn't spend much time looking at the stove.  The giantess was much more interesting.  She had, as it turned out, removed her dress while she washed her hair, so as not to get it wet.  Bent over the sink the way she was, her truly astonishing breasts hung down such that if Jack walked under her, he'd need to duck.

Not that he'd want to.  Those breasts looked just like others he'd seen as they wobbled enticingly, while her hands scrubbed at her scalp.  Jack observed that the nipples on those breasts were about the size of the thick end of a carrot.  His mouth watered at the thought of both carrots and of having that nipple in his mouth.  He didn't question why he might wish to suck at that nipple.  He simply recognized that such a thing might be possible.

The giant woman was standing with her legs spread.  The usual description might be "shoulder's width apart," except that her shoulders were about the length from Jack's toes to his chest.  In any case, she was unknowingly exposing to Jack a bush of hair that would decently cover a grown man's head, though the sight might be humorous.  Imagine long, brown crinkly hair sprouting in all directions from a man's head.  I'm sure I'd laugh, though it would be rude.

But what drew Jack's attention was the enormous pair of juicy looking pussy lips that drooped below that hair.  They looked like bolts of velvet cloth, in a way, deep with rich color that ranged from maroon on the outside parts to something very close to pink where they gaped open slightly.  It's understood that "gaped" and "slightly" used in conjunction like this is a poor description, but while by giant standards her pussy lips were slightly open, by Jack's standards they gaped wide.  He stifled a hysterical giggle as the memory of the veterinarian's last visit came to him.  The man had stuck his entire arm up the cow's rear end as part of his examination.  Jack looked at his arm, and then at that pussy.  It wasn't at all difficult to imagine he could do the same in this particular situation.

He felt a sudden pressure in his pants.  It was accompanied by a feeling that he knew well...a feeling of pleasure as, he knew, his prick began to stiffen.  He expected that, under the circumstances.

What he didn't expect was the result of his having consumed a magic bean, and the magic from that bean having gotten into his bloodstream.

The pressure grew and grew, until he winced at the pain.  Looking down, his eyes grew large as saucers.  Some wild animal had taken refuge in his pants and was clawing its way out!  There could be no other explanation for the immense bulge there.  As he watched, the cloth of his trousers failed, and the beast sprang forth, seeking freedom.

There were, in the following few seconds of time, a variety of interesting results.

First, the pressure and pain vanished.

Second, Jack had to put one foot forward, to keep from falling down.

Third, and most important, Jack realized that what had burst forth through his shredded trousers was no animal.  It was his prick.  He was quite sure of that, even though the thing jutting from his groin was now fully two feet long, and as thick as his thigh.  He stared at it as it bobbed gently before coming to rest.  It was obvious that the weight of the thing was what was trying to pull him forward.  But his thigh was running into something and he teetered alarmingly.

He moved his head sideways, to see what was making it difficult for him to move his foot forward.  His balls had grown too!  They appeared large enough to fill a bushel basket!

My apologies, dear reader.  Even I, in my pursuit of the truth, can be tempted to overstate the facts.  This is common when giant things are involved in a story.  It is closer to the truth that Jack's balls were now the size of a well grown, if misshapen muskmelon.

In any case, the fourth result of this unfortunate situation was that the ripping of Jack's pants alerted the giantess that someone was in the kitchen with Dinah.

Her name, you see, was Dinah.

You can imagine her dismay when she was confronted with what appeared to be a toddler, who appeared to be toddling toward her, in fact, with a phallus that came from her dreams.

It was very unsettling.

"Who are you?" she thundered.  Actually, she spoke in a quite normal, if surprised voice, but it sounded like thunder to Jack, who covered his ears and winced.  He also started shaking like a leaf.  Courage was not Jack's strong suit.  As he had never been afraid, he'd never developed any courage either.

"J-J-Jack," he stammered.

"And where did you come from, Jack?" asked the woman, her tone lower.

Jack, who was shaking visibly now, was having trouble thinking.  Suddenly the whole story of how he'd gotten here seemed like it would take too many words.  He distilled it down to just one.

"M-m-magic?" he croaked.

Dinah took in the sight of the small person, with the impressively large sexual organ, which seemed to be almost humming with energy as it shimmered back and forth.

"Well how about that!" she purred.  "I was just thinking about how unhappy I am that I'm alone all day long, and what should pop up but my very own personal, talking vibrator!"

"V-v-vibrator?" stuttered Jack.

"And its voice even vibrates too!" said Dinah, happily.

She stepped forward and reached for him.

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