tagHumor & SatireThe Huntsman Pt. 01

The Huntsman Pt. 01


They call me the Huntsman, but my real name is. . . . Well, it really doesn't matter what my real name is. That's not at all the point of this tale.

Two days ago—I believe it was a Monday, but I can't be sure as I tend to lose track of time when I'm in the woods—I was on my way to Riding Hood's house. Her grandmother was apparently gone and word was out among the woodland critters that Riding Hood was planning a big event at the cottage that night.

Riding Hood's grandmother's cottage is definitely off the main carriage roads and the well-worn paths, and that explains why I was not surprised to see Riding Hood with nothing on but her long, flowing velvet red cloak getting fucked hard by some guy I didn't recognize in a wolf mask.

I heard her moans and cries long before I saw her. It was abundantly clear what was happening. The birds, the beavers, the foxes, the wolves, the does and bucks—everyone within earshot—knew the score: Riding Hood was in the throes of passion, calling out the name of her lover, her voice punctuated by the slap of his skin hitting solidly against hers.

That made it easier for me to come upon her quietly so I would not disturb her tryst. I just wanted to watch from a safe distance and not get involved, as I had just come from Prince Charming's castle where he and Cinderella had been celebrating their second wedding anniversary with a festival for the town.

I was exhausted and still hurting from the night before when a clearly drunk Cinderella had cornered me in a stone stairway in the castle and confided in me that the handsome, knightly Prince Charming was just not that interested in what was between her legs. Instead, he had made it known to her from the start that he favored the tight ass and large cock of his 18-year-old stable boy. Nonetheless, she said, they were still trying to produce an heir, but it was obvious the job was not getting done.

So there was the beautiful Cinderella, now 21 years old, telling me all about her husband's desires for young men and how mechanical and routine their fucking had become—and that's when she popped the question to me.

"Huntsman," she slurred ever so slightly. "Will you fuck me until I am spent and sore and left full of your cum tonight?"

And so the two of us slipped away, Cinderella giving her handmaidens the night off, telling them that she was tired and drunk and needed to be alone.

I now believe it was the mead and whiskey that helped to prevent me from cumming immediately upon the sight of Cinderella dropping her petticoat and pale blue ball gown on the floor in her private room. She stood before me, only in her white tights, with her bare breasts and pink nipples exposed to the cool night air. She then slowly bent over, careful not to fall, and slid the tights to the floor, revealing her closely trimmed pussy, her long legs and those now-famous feet of hers.

Cinderella then climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees, her ass high in the air, playfully exposing her beautiful, now-glistening cunt to me.

"Please fuck me, Huntsman," she pleaded. "It's been far too long."

And that is what I did; I stripped off my leather jerkin, green tunic, leather pants and knee-high boots, climbed on the bed between her feet and legs and slid my hard cock into her wet cunt.

We fucked until the moon was low in the sky and the orange and blue was just beginning to show on the horizon—moving about the room to make use of tables, chairs and the fur rugs in front of the fireplace. I came inside her three times that night, confident in the fact that should she get pregnant everyone in the land would believe the child to be the prince's.

I would add that there was no walk of shame for me in slipping away early that morning. Cinderella had passed out shortly after we finished with a contented look on her face, leaking my cum from between her legs. I was happy to have done my duty for the kingdom. Cinderella would likely produce the heir the family needed, and the prince's secret love affair would remain secure.

And that brings me back to Riding Hood.

Few things surprise me anymore in this kingdom. I've seen it all: magic, fairy godmothers, enchanted pumpkins, talking mice, giants, evil witches, even dwarf orgies. So that is why when I stumbled upon Riding Hood getting railed by a guy in a furry wolf mask—well, let's just say, given the psychological trauma she had endured in the past with the Big Bad Wolf, I understood why she would fetishize wolves, making her lovers don a wolf costume before being allowed to enter her.

I swear that I only watched for a short while, but I did manage to catch the last few moments of her sexual encounter.

I watched intently as the two furiously fucked, the man in the wolf mask behind Riding Hood—who was leaning over, her hands braced on a tree for support—announcing that he was about to cum.

"Swallow my cum," the wolf-man demanded of her. "Take it down your pretty throat!"

Riding Hood, red-faced and panting, slid off the man's hard cock and turned around so she could get on her knees. She then took wolf-man's cock into her mouth, swallowing him right down to the base and proceeded to make loud gulping and slurping sounds as she swallowed load after load of the wolf-man's seed.

I'm not sure if Riding Hood ever knew I was there, as it was pretty clear that she was hyper-focused on getting laid.

It didn't matter. Eventually, I decided it would be best for me to go sleep off the past night's excitement somewhere deep in the woods, so I could prepare for that night's party at Riding Hood's cottage, a night I knew would be eventful in so many ways.

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