Snow White. The True Story.

As related by,

Miss Irene Clearmont.

This is a retelling of that well known tale. But, this tale is not one for children and those of a delicate disposition. It is a female domination, BDSM version that may strike some chords... The queen, the princess and her father have business to settle and the queen is going to get her way no matter what. Even if she has to lock up the king and torture the whole nation, she will get her way.

An Adult story of Female Domination.

Copyright November 2012 © Miss Irene Clearmont

Snow White.

the true story.

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The wordsmith sits amongst her voluminous black velvet robes and blue silk and pauses before relating her tale. A mask of ivory, edged with ebony sits easily in her hand. It is the mark of her devotion to the muse Melpomene. She is an older woman, still attractive and alluring despite her fifty years. She sighs as she allows her mind to wander over the details of the saga that she is about to divulge.

She speaks...

*****

Once upon a time a king ruled a small land, north of the Alps, but south of the places where the Vikings blood their sudden axes. The King of this small but pleasant land ruled with a generous heart, dispensing justice with an even hand to rich and poor, titled and peasant. Not every citizen was always happy with their lot, but when they looked over their frontiers at the wars and raids, the plagues and disasters in other lands, they were generally of the opinion that they had been lucky to be born in such a sea of tranquility.

But the king's past was thick with tragedy. His beloved wife had died at the birth of his daughter and he felt bereft of her glowing presence. However, to balance this loss, the star in the crown jewels of his kingdom was his sumptuous daughter. With an alabaster complexion, raven black locks of hair that draped to her waist and a figure that all agreed was most alluring, she filled court life with the rays of her beauty and courtly disposition. The only lacks that the king had, was a son to take up the burden and responsibility of the kingdom and a wife to make the court ceremonial complete and take the empty space in his bed at night.

So the time came for the king to find a bride. With the security of his realm in mind, he sent emissaries to the neighboring kingdoms near and far announcing that he sought a queen to sit on the throne by his side. Many Kings, Bishops and Princes offered a daughter or niece and sent them to the king to win his heart. They passed through the court and were greeted with grace and favor, but none of them was the woman that he sought. Some were too old to bear children, some were too young to be attractive to a man in his thirties and a few were shrews that complained every portion of the time that they visited his court. The remainder were unsuitable because he needed to find harmony with some other neighboring kingdom that would offer security and friendship.

One sunny day in late autumn, the heralds of yet another suitor for his hand presented themselves in court. Arrived was a Prince of Byzantium representing the power of Rome resurgent in the East. Accompanying him was his entourage of twenty knights and titled relations of the Emperor, senior officers of the famed Varangian Guard. The king greeted them with great favor, for who could resist the power of Rome renascent? Two days later, the niece of the Emperor of Byzantium arrived in great state and fanfare with an escort befitting her importance, beauty and manner.

Dressed in the watered silks of Palermo, the supple leather of Ephesus and the glossy satins of Byzantium itself, she was a bride befitting an Emperor, a representative of Imperial power and arrogance. Thirty years sat lightly on her shoulders together with her long flowing blonde hair. She had a fierce eastern look that so beguiled the king that he immediately decided that his search for a wife had ended.

Her icy manner did not disturb him, the jeweled whip that she carried in her lace gloved hand was clearly an affectation and the high riding boots that she wore lent her an air of authority that he could not deny.

The wedding was one of state. Magnificent and munificent, it lasted for three days of gaiety and dance that ended as the king bore his bride to the marriage bed with great hopes in his heart. It was there, in that field of marital combat that the king discovered that his new queen was a woman who knew not only of the ways of love to beguile him, she rode him like a knight rides a charger. She drained him like a milkmaid squeezes the last drop from the goats and cows and soon she had him devoted under the spell of her stringent and inflexible love.

This was because she was a woman who recognized what she wanted, a woman accustomed to bending men to her will, a woman that knew that the whip and a terse order had its place in the wide field of a king's bed as much as it had on the battlefield where men die screaming as the steel finds their heart. A woman whose object was authority pure, control unabated by law, a woman who understood only her superiority.

So the days passed like leaves falling from the trees. They fluttered unnoticed until a winter of corrupted love filled the king's heart. It was not the love that he had had for his former queen. That had been a pure and unsullied thing that was filled with moments of romance and tenderness. This love was the love of obsession, the feeding of the crows and the grating noise of battle. But, it had its attractions for the king, as he bent gradually under the strong hand of his lordly wife. While she wielded the whip in their bed and rode him to culmination with her boots on; while she chained him to the four-poster that had witnessed the conception of his fair daughter, he thrust into her sumptuous body. All the while, the spurs on her boots gouged his thighs as he screamed with his infatuated passion.

While the king lay under the spell of his Greek bride, as he fell into her potent spell of violent love, the court missed its king. As he lay sleeping with exhaustion from exhilarating floggings that his wife had administered, she ruled his court with a rod of iron. Gone were the balanced judgments of the concerned king, gone were the ceremonials that were inclusive of all citizens and gone was the ear of the king who always had had time to attend to all petitioners.

The new queen, dressed in black leather and with her jeweled whip in her hand administered justice. She was a dark eminence that created favorites in the court and promoted those who were grasping and avaricious. No peasant was ever accorded justice, this was subsumed to the lords of the land who could now administer the law as they wished. Whim and caprice ruled as the queen expanded her power and ensured that no whisper of her comportment reached the ear of the king. Torture chambers that had been filled with the dust of unuse and the spider webs of vacancy became inhabited by the servants of corrupt justice.

The queen took an extraordinary interest in the methods used to extract confessions and so added refinements that she felt increased the loquacity of those who would not betray their friends and family. She spent long hours amusing herself with the persuasions of the rack, the swelling pear and the iron maiden as she enjoyed her nights making sure that her enemies suffered as she decided they should.

So, you may ask, what was the king doing in this troubled time of his kingdom? Why did he not rise from his bed and dispense the justice that he was famed for, far and wide? How was it that this Byzantine Queen, his wife, could govern with such a free hand? The answer lay in the nature of the spell that she had woven about his psyche. It was the drugs that she administered and the games that she played in his bed. Games of dissolute loving that were performed when he was fit to perform, centering on her own waxing pleasures in pain and power. She laid the whip on the royal flesh with a will. Soon it was the only way that the king could experience a climactic pleasure from her body. She addicted him not just to the pleasures of pain and degenerate flesh. She introduced philters and potions into his food and drink, so that he lay in a haze of confusion where the only person that he could bear to see was his naïve daughter and his immoral wife.

Soon the Queen took a lover. A base man who had lost his titles in years gone by for his maleficent treatment of his serfs. He was a man for whom the paths of pleasure and agony ran parallel and in close proximity. She did not treat this squalid lord as she did the king and pursue him through the silk sheets with a whip in her hand, but instead she and her lover cavorted in the presence of the screams of their victims as they were racked with the pain of the torturers glowing irons. A bed they installed in the deepest dry dungeon of the castle, a bed where the rhythm of their love-making chimed with the moans of those that labored on the racks.

Called from the dank depths of the bottle cells and the iron barred holding pens, their victims were brought to suffer in the bed while the Queen and her new consort played their games of sexual passion and anguish. Fluids spurted into the open mouths of those victims, their parts were used for the delight of the Queen and the female victims were penetrated with gross indignity by her vicious devotee. The whip that adorned the king's cringing and needy flesh was used to add piquant highlights to the base servitude, the cancerous perversity that the Queen always required to come to the heights of gratification that she craved. Finally those victims were branded with the mark of slavery and sold to those others that need such victims to feed their sexual appetites.

In the midst of this descent of the court into a web of fearful glances, toadying praise, blackmailed servitude and sexual horror was the roya princess. She was offspring of the former Queen and found herself ever more estranged from her beloved subjects as well as the king, her father. She tried to speak to him, to wake him from his malaise, but the Queen took delight in showing her how powerless her father had become. A moaning shadow of his former proud self. A man who craved the whip, who longed to suck the teats and sex of the Queen who had dissolved his former self. A man who in his delirium believed that his daughter was just another whore presented to him by his iniquitous queen.

One day the princess was stopped in the shadow of the pillars in the royal gardens and shown a piece of paper that had already been presented to the king to sign and confirm. It was a parchment roll that explained that the princess had taken a lover. It was written that he was a gross criminal who murdered the victims of his rapes with the princess' exultant assent. This warrant was but a copy, the original had already been signed. The princess was soon to be constrained and imprisoned. A second paper was filled with the plans that the Queen had for her rival in the court. A list of imagined, but to be realized, tortures, rapes and assaults that would be inflicted on her until at last she was ready to be blinded and handed as amusement to the Queen for her vicious erotic pleasures in the vast bed of agony where so many had already met their doom.

Her heart almost stopped when she realized that the king, her father, had himself signed the order for her arrest and doom. So it was that she found her charger, stuffed her bag with jewels and fled the court that had become a hell of perversity and debauchery. For long hours her trusty charger rolled up the miles of her flight until, at last, it was foamed and breathless with their escape. She pushed it on through the night, galloping past its reserves, but it loved her so that it ran with no complaint until its great heart burst and the stallion suddenly stood still and then sank to its knees in awkward death. Even in death it did not throw her, so great was its affection for the raven haired princess, it just neighed a last farewell and rolled over lifeless, allowing her to step from its still warm body unharmed.

At the edge of the vast forest, the Teutoburger Wald that had seen Roman armies march into its gloomy shade and never return, the Princess stood uncertain of her next step. With melancholy in her thoughts and heaviness in her heart she decided to enter that forest of aged oaks and seek escape, even though she knew that wild beasts like the hungry wolf and the evil wild boar took their shade under its branches.

For days she journeyed without incident, seeking wild berries to sustain her hopes and fill her belly as she wandered ever further into the heart of the murkiness of those vast trees. The level branches of the trees were her bed and the fresh trickles of water in streams were her wine. In the night she heard the cries of the wolves and the blundering nighttime quests of the black bears. During the day she suffered the bites of the horseflies and the damp of the light rains that descended drop by glittering drop through the canopy of green far above her head, until one day she came into a clearing that was festooned with vines, the first that she had encountered. As she stood in the pale sunlight she heard the sound of song that penetrated into the glade and wondered what men could inhabit such a forlorn landscape.

A short man entered the clearing and stopped in confusion at the tattered woman who stood before him. She asked him kindly if he was of the forest and he replied that he was but a miner who smelted gold and silver, dug for gems and precious ores in the heart of this vast forest.

So it was that the princess found a home, a place of warm hearth and welcome that was to become a home for a while. Seven men there were, who worked together to mine the riches of the earth. Riches that had lain since the world was created by the gods of yore. In their house they lived and slept, in the open mine that they dug, they gathered the bounties of the earth.

The princess tarried a day and then another until they saw that she could cook and work for them for a meal a day and the comfort of their beds. They were hungry for her body as well as the fine provisions that she could cook. So they passed her from one to the next at night until all had had their fill of her luscious pleasures. In her dejection and hopelessness she complied with their wishes and allowed them to penetrate her body for their gratification and then awoke each morn to cook meals and prepare the house to be a fit place for them. The work during the day was arduous as they drove her to create an Eden for them. The work at night was no less trying as they fed her on their emissions and found places to penetrate that she had never imagined could bring a man such pleasure.

The miners named her Snow White because of the purity of her beauty, the clearness of her skin and the snow that they covered her with at night, until her complexion was smooth and clear. Months passed as Snow White served her masters, the miners of the Teutoburger Wald. She became accustomed to their attentions and came to love the unceasing pleasure that was to be had from their strong arms as they held her fast and showed her that they were men who knew how to take what they wanted from a woman. The taste of them between her lips, the way that they filled all of her cavities with such strong thrusts, became a pleasure until she realized that she was lucky to be the lover of not just one man, but the debauched paramour of seven.

All the while that the princess hid in the forest and learned to satisfy her new owners, the Queen searched for her rival. She knew that she had to destroy the princess utterly if she was to be sure to keep her grip on the man who had been king, though he was now but a slave chained to her bedpost. So the Queen sent out riders, hunters and searchers to find the errant Snow White. Months passed and the Queen started to believe the urgings of her lover that indeed the princess had died on some lonely meadow or hillock, or perhaps had drowned in some river or stream where the wolves feasted now on her carcass.

One man only did not give up the search. A hunter by trade as well as inclination. He supposed that the rewards would be great and the queen would pay him handsomely should he find the princess. As he wandered and searched he imagined spending all the gold that he was certain to receive when he presented the princess in chains to the queen. Finally he came across the wolf-ravaged remains of the princess' horse. The trappings and accoutrements half hidden by the flowers and grasses growing through the whitened bones and so he knew that the princess had entered the dark woods just to the west. But, the trail was cold and even his skills at tracking the wild beasts of the kingdom could not lead him to her final destination. So, he searched the less overgrown edges of the forest before returning to the city and preparing for a more thorough exploration of the forest and its hidden denizens.

All the while the queen gathered the traces of the kingdom in her cruel hand. Executions and vanishings of the king's loyal citizens proceeded apace, as the dungeons filled with those who spoke out against her pitiless rule. No longer did she visit the king in his bed. In her stead she sent men and women to the shackled king. These whores exalted in their new power over a king.

The king that no longer ruled his kingdom. He repeatedly signed the warrants that condemned his faithful followers to doom in the oubliettes and dank chambers that served as anterooms for their demise at the hands of the queen. There some of these victims were cruelly branded with her mark and broken, ready for the slave markets in Byzantium and Damascus to serve as playthings for the rich and dissolute Greeks of the east. Others were prepared for her bed, a place of cruel torments where she rode the men as they too were marked by the white hot iron of torment. She milked them of their essences for her immense gratification. As she screamed with unassuaged lust they expired between her thighs or perhaps survived to fail later at the next spiteful phase of their downfall. Some were blinded to end their lives in mewling darkness while others were rendered incomplete and flensed by the torturers that haunted the darkness as they fulfilled their erotic fantasies of cruelty and mercilessness.

As the dungeons filled and the slave coffles were marched to the south, the court itself became but a parody of its former glory. Former feast days became orgies of perversion where wine and delicacies were laced with the noxious fruit of mushrooms that bent those who consumed them towards corruptions of the soul and comportment. Women were exalted over men and carried out rapes and mutilations on the men that they toyed with while the queen presided over feasts of the flesh that cast those of Nero and Caligula into the shade. Every degenerate and every pervert who sought out the court was granted power over those who were to be raped and defiled.

The queen discovered treachery and betrayal in every deed and word. Her former lover, the captain of the torturers guild found himself committed to the dungeons that he had formerly presided over. His body tattooed with foul inscriptions and thus he performed his duty as pleasure toy to the queen with reluctant ardor. Used to satisfy her deviant erotic urges he squirmed on her silk and lace sheets as she rode him for hours with her mocking laughter ringing in his ears and her whip in her lace bedecked hand.

The queen took a woman as her new master torturer. Red haired and gross with broad rolls of fat, the new mistress of the dungeons proved to be more imaginative than the queen herself. The small razor sharp stiletto blade that she carried sought out vulnerable flesh as she passed her charges fettered to the dank walls. Men feared to be called to her bed and very few returned whole.