Snow White

"This is the moment," he said. "Brace yourself. It will hurt, just a little. And then it will be bliss."

"I'm ready," she said. "I want to feel your staff in my flower. I want to feel the bliss."

He brought her down hard and fast on his cock, to get her pain over quickly, and he felt that glorious grip of a tight, wet virgin cunt sheathing his cock until he was all the way in, and her lips met his pubic mound. He was in, to the hilt. He waited.

"Oh!" she cried out. She put her arms around his neck and her cheek against his, and then she pulled back and looked into his eyes with wonder. He felt her body shiver.

"You're right. It hurt, a little. But the pain already is going away. Your . . . staff . . . feels odd inside me. I've never felt that before. It feels good, but so peculiar. What do we do now?"

"We fuck," he said.

"'Fuck'?" she asked. "What's that?"

"You will move your flower up and down, on my staff, and each time my staff will almost come out of your flower, but not quite. It will stay in, barely. I will help you, but you need to move in rhythm, with me. We will keep doing that until we come."

"Come?"

"Orgasm."

"Orgasm?"

"You really do not know? Well, you will find out soon enough. Let's fuck, and soon you will come. I will delay coming until after you do."

So, at last, for the first time in her life, Snow White rose and fell in sexual congress with a man. The prince had never, amid all his conquests, felt so joyous a union with a woman. It took only a few thrusts for him to know this was the greatest fuck of his life. But a nagging sensation rose in his breast: he would have to see this woman again, whoever she was. There was no doubt of it. But he had business with the queen, and he had hoped, somehow, during his time in Wantonia, to see the princess Snow White. This lovely young woman that he so joyously fucked might put a wrinkle in his plans.

It was difficult to think of any of that now, however, because the lovely young woman bounced off his cock rapidly, with a verve and energy that seemed odd to the prince, for a virgin. The orbs of her white breasts, capped with the most wondrously pale pink nipples, bobbed in every direction.

Suddenly a loud masculine voice sounded from somewhere in the garden, perhaps a hundred yards away.

"Snow White!"

"Oh!" she said, and she stopped bouncing up and down on the prince.

"That is Master Rancibal," she said, looking at the prince's eyes. "He is my chief tutor."

"Snow White!" the voice called again. "It is time for your lessons, my princess."

Snow White rose off the prince's lap with a slurpy "pop" as his still-hard staff left her flower.

The prince sat still, amazed. The woman he had just been fucking was . . . Snow White, the princess? He had fucked her before even knowing who she was.

"I'm so sorry, Prince Geoffrey, but I must go. It is time for my flute lessons. I cannot be late. Perhaps we can meet another time and . . . fuck, that's the word, right? Yes, let's meet and fuck again. I would like that. You can show me more about it. Here, let me give you a . . . what, kiss?"

She gave him a short peck on the lips.

Prince Geoffrey's body was shot through with fierce bolts of electricity. He sat on the fountain edge, stunned and amazed.

Snow White pulled the dress over her body.

"I must go, sweet prince. I will see you later."

And with that, she left, skipping through the garden until her figure disappeared behind tall rose bushes.

Prince Geoffrey stood up, his cock pointed away from him like a rocket, swaying in the sun. He had the worst case of blue balls he had ever had. A woman had left him, mid-fuck. It had never happened before.

Snow White. Damn. He'd fucked Snow White.

With care, and some difficulty, he tucked his cock, still tumescent, back into his breaches and returned to the wall to climb over it and rejoin his entourage.

As he scrambled up the stone wall, his entire body and being burned with one implacable desire: he must fuck Snow White again.

* * * *

An hour later, Queen Ezebel deigned to meet Prince Geoffrey and his entourage in the throne room of her castle. The queen usually grew tired quickly of the pomp and ceremony that attended such meetings of state, but the ceremony was necessary to impress upon her visitors the requisite sense of awe, respect . . . and fear. She sat on her throne as the Speerbergeans approached. She was eager to get the thing done, to make the necessary pro forma statements about the undying friendship between their lands, and to send the Speerbergeans on their way as soon as possible, so she could refocus her attention on a more important matter: finding another man to give her a satisfying fuck.

But her attitude changed immediately when Prince Geoffrey stepped forward.

The queen had not seen so magnificent a specimen of manhood in a long time. Oh, she'd had many handsome knights in her bed. But in every case, she had been aware of the inferiority of their station, compared to her own. No matter how studly, they were fearful of her.

But not this young prince that now stood tall and regal before her. He faced her as a man, and as an equal. His eyes peered into hers with no trace of fear or inferiority. His shoulders were broad, his face strong, his eyes steady, his square chin neatly cleft.

The queen's gaze absorbed the image of his figure for no more than three seconds when she decided to herself: she wanted this man. Relations between Wantonia and Speerbergen were about to get much more interesting, and intimate, she was sure. She would have Prince Geoffrey in her bed by nightfall.

Everyone waited for the queen to speak.

"Welcome, Prince Geoffrey of the Royal Kingdom of Speerbergen, to Wantonia. Our kingdoms have long been friendly. I hope that with your visit we may explore that friendship in new ways."

Geoffrey bowed.

"Thank you, your majesty. I, too, hope our countries will continue to engage with one another for the mutual benefit of our peoples."

He stood up from his bow, and the queen thought he looked magnificent. There was no hint of fear or obeisance toward her in his bearing, and she liked that. Frankly, she was tired of ass-kissers.

Still, she was just a bit disappointed in his response. She had heard he was clever, and she hoped that he would respond to her rather obvious overture with a response--subtle, perhaps, but not so subtle as to disguise completely his receptiveness--that indicated his desires were in line with hers. She was nonplussed to see that the prince looked at her impassively. She was accustomed to seeing the desire in men's eyes when they looked at her, and she saw none in this tall, handsome prince's eyes.

But there was time. Her wiles would snare him, she was sure.

The perfunctory, ceremonial exchanges continued, far longer than the queen would have liked, followed by a feast in honor of her guests. Lamb and fowl were served, and vast quantities of wine were drunk. All the time, the queen subtly observed the prince. It disturbed her that he did not appear to sneak glances at her. She was dressed in a form-fitting sable gown, with deep cleavage. She wanted his eyes to be on her, but they weren't. The prince was courteous, and he was responsive to those who asked him questions. But the queen, who was the daughter of a wizard and keenly attuned to men's feelings, caught no hint of interest in her. His lack of interest vexed her. She could have sworn he was distracted--she wondered by what.

When the necessary amount of time had passed, the queen adjourned the feast, and she bade the young prince to meet her in her chambers to discuss "state matters."

* * * *

Prince Geoffrey climbed the steps to the queen's chambers high in the castle. He knew the meeting would be important, and it required his attention, but he was distracted. Snow White had not shown up at the feast. He wondered why. He could not get the image of her face and nude body out of his head. Upon meeting the queen, he had been struck by her beauty. She was indeed as beautiful as everyone had told him. She was famous throughout all the kingdoms nearby for her beauty. But, to the prince, her beauty was nothing next to the sublime allure of Snow White. Snow White was all he could think of. He mustered all his training in diplomacy to concentrate on saying the right things to the queen during their meeting and the feast afterward. His father, King Henry, was depending upon him to represent his kingdom well and to secure certain agreements that would benefit both Speerbergen and Wantonia. But Geoffrey found it difficult to think of anything but Snow White--her pale, lush body, her ebony hair, her bright red lips, and oh, the incomparable delight of her flower, her pussy. He had fucked her, but not come, and now, hours after that encounter, he still had not found relief. Inside his body roiled a tempest of unsatisfied need.

Upon summiting the long spiral of stairs, the prince was beckoned by footmen to enter the queen's chambers. He was escorted to her closed door, and he knocked.

"Come in," her voice called from behind the door.

The prince entered. He was surprised to find the queen alone, dressed in a filmy red dress.

"Prince Geoffrey," the queen said, shifting her body to one side and causing the dress to flow with it.

"Your majesty," Geoffrey said, bowing.

"Our countries have much to discuss," said the queen. "I think we can both prosper from a closer union."

"Indeed, your majesty," said the prince. "I am certain we can. My country looks forward to entering pacts on which both our countries will prosper."

"Come closer, Prince," the queen said, beckoning him with a long, slender finger. She sat gracefully on a divan, facing the prince, the dress parting to reveal much of her trim, toned legs.

The prince was no fool about women. It was crystal clear to him that the queen wanted to seduce him. For half an hour they pretended to talk about state business, but the queen's conversation was filled with innuendo, double-entendres, and not-so-subtle suggestions. She spoke at uncomfortable length about letting his country harvest her fields. Had the prince not met Snow White, he might have been tempted. The queen was exquisitely beautiful--almost too perfect in form and complexion. There was a marked coldness about her, however. The queen radiated no warmth or affection, just sexual need. And, in any event, he HAD met Snow White, and he was still so captivated by the memory of her that the queen's charms had no effect on him.

Over the course of their conversation, the queen's demeanor changed. Her tone grew more impatient. Her words became more abrupt. The prince understood that the queen was vexed at his resistance to her overtures.

At last, having had no success at winning over the prince, the queen dismissed him.

As he descended the long staircase from the queen's chambers, the prince realized that his position was a precarious one. He was a guest in this land, and the queen was not a host to be trifled with. He had said nothing about his encounter with Snow White, of course. He wondered when and how he might be able to see her again.

* * * *

The queen was furious. She stewed in her royal chambers. She had practically thrown herself at the prince--to a degree that almost demeaned her--yet he had resisted her. It could not be borne. No man had ever spurned her in her life. She was not just the queen; she was the most beautiful and desirable woman in all of Wantonia. The mirror told her so, and the mirror did not lie. How dare he?

Had he not been the prince of a neighboring kingdom, she might have had her guards hack him apart with their swords and throw the pieces to the dogs. But powerful though she was, she couldn't risk war with Speerbergen. No, she would have to be satisfied by sending the prince on his way the next day, with no further pacts or treaties.

She slept poorly that night, tossing and turning. The prince's resistance to her shook her confidence. When she rose from her bed the next morning, she was tired and irritable. She needed reassurance.

She looked at her mirror, framed in gold. For as long as she had been queen, it had given her the comfort she sought. She sought it again.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is the greatest fuck of all?"

The mist in the mirror receded until the familiar, indistinct green face appeared.

"My Queen, you fuck with great skill, 'tis true,

But Snow White is a far greater fuck than you."

The queen screamed. She picked up a vase and threw it against the wall, screaming more as it shattered into a thousand pieces.

All the queen's fears and jealousies had come true. Snow White! She had done everything possible to keep her cursed stepdaughter sequestered from the world, but the little slut had managed to get out and get fucked anyway.

"Grenda!" she screamed at the top of her voice.

Grenda was the queen's most trusted aide. The queen had tasked Grenda with spying on Snow White and making sure that Snow White's maids told her nothing without the queen's approval. Snow White's maids lived in fear of Grenda--a fear that was justified. Once, one of Snow White's maids had indiscreetly begun to tell Snow White too many details about men. That maid was removed from Snow White's service and never heard from again.

Grenda entered the queen's chambers and bowed low.

"Your Majesty. What may I do?"

"Bring Snow White to me. Now."

* * * *

In another part of the castle, Snow White sat by a window with morning light streaming in, as her ladies in waiting drew her bath. A pair of doves sat by her in the windowsill, cooing and pecking at seeds she had sprinkled on the sill for them.

She thought about the events of the day before, of the prince, and of what she and the prince had done together. They had fucked. She had never heard of that word before, and, indeed, hadn't even known that the act of fucking existed.

For all her life, Snow White had been educated by carefully selected tutors. She had learned about music and art and literature, and about the history and politics of other countries. She was fluent in four languages. She could dance with the grace of an angel. But with her 18^th birthday behind her, she became increasingly aware that there was much she did not know. It seemed to her that despite all the effort to educate her, much was being kept from her. How could she not know about fucking? Now that she thought about it, she knew almost nothing about the relations between men and women. Snow White had been permitted to attend only a few events in her life in which she engaged with boys or men of her own age. On such occasions, she had sometimes felt stirrings inside her that she did not understand. A few times, she had asked her maids in waiting about these feelings, and if they knew anything about them, but every time they turned away and said nothing. She wondered why.

One time, she asked one of her maids, Imelda, whether she had ever been in love.

"Oh yes, your highness. I have been in love."

"Please," Snow White asked her, "Tell me about it."

Imelda began, but a sharp look from another woman nearby, Grenda, silenced her.

"I don't remember much, your highness," Imelda said, with a worried look in her eye. "It was a long time ago."

Snow White wondered about Grenda. She was an older woman, and she said little to Snow White. She was almost always present when the other maids were with Snow White. It had been Snow White's impression for most of her life that Grenda's role was to counsel the maids on how to serve Snow White. But more recently Snow White had begun to wonder if Grenda's presence served another purpose.

Snow White had been pampered all her life. She was given the best of everything, and she was indulged in almost every way possible. But indulgence wasn't what pleased her most. She felt the greatest joy when she could give. In the gardens, she felt pleasure in talking to the birds and animals and in feeding them. On those few occasions when she was allowed to go out, among the people of Wantonia, she wanted to visit the people in their homes, or the patients in hospitals, and show them kindness and give them hope. Nothing gave her more happiness.

Gradually, however, it had dawned on Snow White that the occasions for her to do so were fewer than she had liked. Snow White was not one to complain. She was aware of the privilege of her position. And yet, a nagging feeling had begun to take hold of her: she felt confined. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was to protect her. Perhaps she was not ready to be exposed to the world.

The bath was drawn, and the water was hot and ready. But Snow White wished to be alone in her bath and she politely asked her ladies in waiting to leave her alone in her bath. They left. Snow White remained by herself next to the large, porcelain tub.

She removed her night dress and stood naked next to the tub, looking at her body reflected in a full-length mirror. Snow White's figure was one of startling contrasts: thick, black, wavy hair set against alabaster skin, with unusually red lips. She had heard people refer to her as "beautiful," but she knew little about what that meant.

Snow White had an idea. The mirror was portable, on wheels, and was set in a frame that allowed its angle to be changed. Snow White wheeled it next to her tub, and she pushed on the mirror until it was angled over the hot water. When Snow White climbed into her bath, she could look up and see herself in the mirror.

She submerged her body in the hot water, and her skin tingled all over. Then she rose, and she hooked her legs over the two sides of the tub and pushed her hips above the level of the water. Now, she could see the flower between her legs exposed. She wanted to look at it in more detail.

She noticed it in a way she had never noticed it before. She had never thought of it as a source of pleasure, until yesterday. When the prince's staff had been inside her flower, filling her in a way she had never imagined or thought possible . . . she had never felt pleasure like that before. Now, in the bath, recalling those few moments, she wanted more of that feeling. She wanted to see the prince. She wanted him to fuck her again, but for longer.

She stared long at her flower in the mirror, manipulating its folds and exposing its hidden places with her fingers. How strange that she had never noticed it before, and how fascinating it was now!

Snow White bathed herself, and when she was done, she called her ladies in waiting to her, and they helped her dress. Snow White seldom dressed herself without aid.

As she finished, Grenda entered the room, with a grim, stern expression on her face.

"Excuse me, your highness," she said. "The queen wishes to see you."

Snow White left her chambers immediately. The queen did not tolerate delay. Snow White mused about her relationship with the queen as she walked. She did not see the queen often. Indeed, a few weeks might pass without ever seeing her. The queen was busy with matters of state. She had a kingdom to rule. She had supplied Snow White with every comfort, so Snow White had no cause to complain. But lately Snow White had begun thinking that she might trade a few comforts for more freedom. She would like to venture beyond the castle grounds, perhaps even by herself. She wanted to see more of the world.

As she approached the queen's chambers, she felt nervous in a way she had never felt before. Her heart beat fast.

The sight of the queen, upon being shown into her chambers, high atop the castle, gave Snow White no relief. The queen's face was stern. Her mood was agitated. She stood erect and tall, robed in black.

"You wished to see me, majesty?" Snow White said.