It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be her fairy tale, not the dream-come-true of a snot-nosed brat.

How would you like to finally meet the man of your dreams, only to realize that he was a king? He marries you and sweeps you off to his castle, and you’re excited that you’re finally able to live happily ever after. You even try to befriend his daughter, whose mother died long before the girl can even remember. You know you can’t replace her mother, but you try to love her anyway.

And she rejects you. You try and try again, but she continues to snub you. Eventually, you give up, retiring to dark corners of the castle when you can, feeling safe and loved only when your husband, the king, is by your side.

But then the unthinkable happens. Your husband, the king, dies. It is sudden and it is a shock, and you experience a feeling of loss so overwhelming that you’re not quite sure you can climb out of this black pit of despair. Somehow, someway, the princess claims the loss as her own. The country weeps for her. They shun you, even as you don the crown and all the responsibility that comes with it.

This is the story of that queen.

The king, when he was alive, doted on his daughter. She was forever his little girl, even though she had stopped being that little girl years prior. She had developed from a lanky, awkward child with eyes too big for her face into a raven-haired beauty with porcelain skin and lips the perfect shade of rose. They called her Snow White.

And every day the queen looked into her mirror, the stress hanging heavier on her shoulders and the lines on her face growing deeper. The widowed queen was heartbroken and saw no way out of her situation

But she saw everything that went on in the palace. At first, it started with Snow’s canoodling with kitchen boys in the corners. It was innocent — for a while. As Snow grew, her desires and curves followed, and the eyes of every male in the castle did, too.

It wasn’t long before the princess moved on to never-ending kisses, leaving serving boys with their eyes glazed over and cocks hard. Any teenaged boy who managed to find his way into the palace would stand in line just for the chance to slip his clammy hand into the princess’s bodice. And she knew it.

Snow quickly learned to use her sway over men to her advantage. A coy smile and a wave of her hand would have them falling over each other to do her bidding.  But this wasn’t why Snow did it. It wasn’t about the favors.

She liked the attention. She liked batting her eyelashes and smiling at serving staff so that spoons and platters crashed to the floor as they temporarily forgot how to do anything but stare. The princess liked playfully pushing hands away from her body in mock resistance; she liked it even better when the hands pushed back — forcefully.

She liked the awkward groping beneath her petticoats and pawing at her corset, the kisses down her throat, grasping and pulling of her hair, the rush of blood between her legs and the way her breathing quickened. And when they finally managed to find the right spots with their fingers, their tongues, their cocks? She was in heaven. She loved it all.

She was fantastic at encouraging the attention, too. A slight brush of her hand across a boy’s arm, a not-so-covert wink and a shuffle to an empty room or a hallway was all that Snow needed to do, and a boy would follow in tow.  The princess continued the flirtatious dance for years, luring defenseless boys to her side with her feminine wiles.

Those boys turned into teenagers, and those teenagers turned into men. At nineteen, Snow White  had moved on from servant boys, who always seemed to stay the same age. She turned her eye to the young men delivering goods to the castle, the local woodsman and politicians who would attend galas at the castle. It didn’t matter their color hair or facial features. If he arrived on the arm of a gorgeous young woman, Snow could find a way to steal him away from the ball if she wanted, and he would soon be between her legs.

Snow Would leave them in a sweaty heap, not caring that their cum was dripping down her creamy thighs as she slunk back to her chambers. The queen had discovered Snow’s disheveled, half-dressed paramours more than once as they guiltily returned to their  duties or their wives, stupid grins glued to their faces. They would shrivel as the queen walked past, but they wouldn’t be able to stop smiling.

It was a miracle that the palace wasn’t in shambles. The princess must have wrapped her mouth around a hundred cocks, lifted her skirt to allow dozens of lustful men between her legs and yet, somehow, not a fight broke out in the castle’s halls. The queen just couldn’t understand it.

Nor could the queen compete. Whenever she would meet a possible suitor, he wound find himself tumbling around with Snow. It was almost as if the princess had planned it. She would give the queen an evil eye as she bit down on a crisp apple, the sound of it ringing through the breakfast hall as the queen simply tried to enjoy her morning meal in peace. She was sure that Snow White was hellbent on ruining the queen’s life. Some night, in the dark of her chambers, the queen would cry silently, wishing she had never met her beloved king to begin with.

Of course, she never meant it, but her despair had grown to such proportions that the queen slowly found herself not caring at all. She went from hopeful to ambivalent, from ambivalent to cold. As she swept through the castle, a chill followed behind her. She barred her heart within a frigid sheath, and even the warmth between her legs seemed to cool.

Snow, with her charm and guile that only the queen could sense, remained everyone’s favorite orphan while the queen’s reputation tarnished. Had she any benevolence to extend to her subjects, she forgot to do so in her despondent state. Those who worked more closely with her in the palace grew impatient with her depression and heartbreak. The queen responded in kind.

This is how she became the queen that all the stories talk about, and this is her story.

But like any story, the end can only be seen in hindsight. The queen expected a happy ending when she married the king, but her story wasn’t going to wrap up so nicely.

Somewhere in the middle, the queen found herself a hostage in her own castle and the kingdom she didn’t care to rule. She heard her stepdaughter’s joyous laughter in the hall and cringed as if only one of them had lost someone they loved. At night — and sometimes during the light of day — the queen could detect deep grunts and high-pitched moans echoing through the halls. She had to escape.

So she began walking the kingdom. It didn’t take much to escape the palace. As it turns out, people weren’t looking for her. She would meander among the markets, secure in her anonymity. But she preferred to roam in the forests, content to be one with nature.

It was here that the queen would watch the forest animals — deer, squirrels, and rabbits on the forest floor and birds perched in branches — go about their daily lives. There was no hatred or contempt. Animals didn’t play games. The queen thought them to be more human than most of the people she knew.

The queen would wander for hours, and it was during one of these strolls that she discovered a large outcropping of stones that looked like a throne. Perched on the rocks, the queen could look at the forest and fields stretched out before her. In the distance, she could just make out small carts hauling between the country and the castle. From her perch, she could usually detect a gentle breeze and the smell of flowers wafting through the air. With the sun beating down on her skin, she almost felt herself again.

From her perch, she could usually detect a gentle breeze and the smell of flowers wafting through the air. With the sun beating down on her skin, she almost felt herself again. She would visit her stone throne almost every day. While she had first laughed bitterly at the idea that the only throne where she felt comfortable was made of rock, she would soon come to feel comfort when visiting her special place.

One particularly hopeful day, she laid sprawled atop her throne and the light wind brushed the revealed skin of her chest. Something struck a chord deep inside, and she felt a desire to warm her heart. Hesitantly, she loosened the laces of her bodice so that her breasts could spill out ever-so-slightly. The sun beamed down on the exposed skin between her breasts, and her heart felt a warmth she almost forgot she was capable of experiencing.

The queen breathed breaths that were full and cathartic for the first time in months. She exhaled slowly, feeling every bit of breath leave her pursed lips. Although that should have been the only sound she could hear, a rustling of leaves startled her. The queen bolted upright and glanced around wide-eyed, her breasts spilling out from their confines. She didn’t notice as she locked eyes with a man who had been the source of the noise.He was tanned from the sun, his skin more leathery than any man who lived in the palace. His dark hair was cut to frame his face but fell disheveled that day/

He was tanned from the sun, his skin more leathery than any man who lived in the palace. His dark hair was cut to frame his face but fell disheveled that day. Still, it couldn’t hide his angular cheekbones or friendly eyes, eyes that barely seemed to stray from her gaze, even though her breasts were hanging out. This rugged man was decked in typical huntsman garb, soft leather adorning his upper body, hands and feet.

But what was most apparent was the raging hard-on he sported, apparently from stumbling across the queen.

“I’m sorry,” he started, as surprised as she was that the forest would contain another human.

If you guessed that the queen was completely stunned, at a loss for words and also strangely aroused, you would be right. Out there, on her throne on the woods, the queen was the object of a man’s lust for the first time in years. And she loved it. Any other thought slipped out of her mind.

“It’s okay,” she tried to reassure the huntsman who was blushing a deep crimson. “I didn’t realize anyone else would be out here. It’s just so nice.” The queen trailed off.

“Yes, it is quite lovely.” He seemed to be agreeing, but his eyes strayed downward to focus on her breasts. It was a bold move, indeed. In the castle, it would have gotten him carted off to the dungeon, but in the woods? It was a different matter entirely.

The queen smiled, not a coy smile like the princess would have offered but a smile that was self-possessed, confident even. The huntsman must have felt particularly arrogant himself because he moved closer to the queen, not giving any indication that he was aware of her status, and fell to her knees. Removing the leather gloves from his hands, he reached out to touch her breasts. His hands were calloused, but his touch was gentle and deliberate.

He kneaded her flesh, leaving temporary marks on her skin. The huntsman carefully loosened the queen’s bodice even more, revealing her full breasts. Leaning forward, he eagerly sucked each of her nipples into his mouth as though he was thirsty for her body. The queen hadn’t felt this wanted since before her husband had passed, and she surprised both of them with the intensity of her moans.

The huntsman seemed intent on pleasuring the woman, who was described as a matronly crone by those who compared her with the princess. But here it was just the two of them, and he certainly saw her as a vibrant woman worth pleasing. As she leaned back on her rocky throne, the huntsman worshiped her body, adorning her with attention and kisses. He wasn’t content to stay above the

He wasn’t content to stay above the belt however, and he lifted the layers of her skirts. The queen thought it was abrupt for him to move to penetration so quickly, and she felt a pang of apprehension at the thought. She had been madly in love with the last man who had been between her legs, and while she wasn’t necessarily a prude, it seemed like the huntsman was too goal oriented.

Her fears were allayed, however, when he ducked his head beneath those layers, instead. His hands might have been rough, but his mouth was soft and warm, and it seemed to melt the chill she had felt inside for so long. He lavished her clit and lapped at her opening just further south. He quickly found a rhythm that the queen couldn’t resist, and she rocked her hips to the same tune.

As she leaned back on her arms, her head tipped back and her golden-brown hair fell backward. Rays of sun caught the tresses, which she had decided against putting up shortly into her depression. Inside the castle, it was nearly scandalous, but on the sun-warmed rocks with the huntsman between her legs, she seemed wild and free.The huntsman continued with his licking,

The huntsman continued with his licking, swirling his tongue around her clit and using the flat for wide strokes that made her shudder. For the first time in what felt like forever, the queen felt her orgasm building. She had forgotten how powerful her body was, what it could feel like when she loosened that power. She did so then, her orgasm a disruptive crash in the peaceful woods. Her thighs squeezed against the huntsman’s head as she came.

And then the tears came. You wouldn’t think of crying as sexy, but her orgasm was the catharsis she needed to finally allow herself to feel. All those months and days she had kept it all inside, and now everything was rushing forward. The queen’s orgasm ushered a torrent of tears and emotion that she couldn’t seem to stop.

The huntsman was alarmed as he extricated himself from her skirts, but he gently asked if she was okay.

“No, it’s fine.” She queen replied in a shaky voice. “Please, don’t stop?” The monarch rarely asked anything of any person these days, but vulnerability was all she had left. And the huntsman listened.

He loosened his own trousers, and they dropped to the ground. His hardened cock was now in view, and the queen could tell it was a beautiful specimen even through the curtain of tears. Again, he was on his knees, pushing his way between her skirts. The queen lay back awkwardly, and he removed his jacket to place it behind her back before he thrust into her. The queen allowed herself to lie back as this stranger penetrated her, a sigh escaping her lips as she had done before she even knew of his existence.

As he fucked her, he was thoughtful and precise. He was skilled and likely experienced, and he was giving her pleasure that she needed. His own heavy breathing and grunts indicated that perhaps he was in need of the very same treatment, and he quickened his pace as he neared orgasm.

But the queen was finally becoming herself again, and her place was not beneath this huntsman, a stranger whose name she didn’t know. Instead, she pushed him from her thighs and instructed him to lie down. She carefully straddled his bare legs, lowering herself onto the cock that arced toward the sky. The huntsman laid his gloves and jacket beneath her knees to prevent them from scraping against the rock beneath them, and the queen ground her hips downward with renewed passion.

Again, she could gaze out from her position on the throne, but it wasn’t calming this time. Her pulse quickened as she rode the man beneath her, breath coming heavier. The queen wasn’t typically so forward about seeking her own orgasm, but she worked toward it like she might die if she didn’t experience another release.

The queen’s orgasm was short-lived, almost violent, but it was an orgasm nonetheless. Her muscular contractions around the huntsman brought him to his own release, and she could feel the spasms and he came deep inside her.

Finally spent, the queen collapsed down upon the huntsman. It was all she could do to catch her breath. But she knew, and she was certain that he did, too, the time couldn’t last forever. Sooner than she would have liked, the queen sat up and began tightening the laces of her bodice, once against constricting her body and breathing.

The huntsman finally spoke. “That was wonderful, my queen. Quite lovely.” The queen was taken aback by his recognition, but it didn’t matter, now did it?

Though the queen and the huntsman would continue to have their rendezvous, a few in the woods, some in his cabin and some carefully-planned meetings in her own palace, happiness seemed to be something that would be doomed to slip from the queen’s grasp. It just wasn’t fair.

After one particularly fun romp, the pair lay awake in the queen’s plush bed. She had learned to let go of the guilt of fucking another man in her marital bed. After all, her husband was dead. More than that, however, the queen was sure her late husband would want her to find happiness even if she didn’t dare think she deserved it.

Their pillow talk turned to the situation in the palace, as it often did. Slowly but surely, the huntsman had stripped the queen of her layers until he knew her entire sob story. Perhaps it was because he had never spent any time in the castle or even because he wasn’t one of her many staff members, but he expressed sadness and respect of the queen’s difficulties. He softly caressed her ivory thigh with his sunkissed fingertips before breaking the comfortable silence.

“I don’t understand why you stay, my lady. You could go anywhere you wanted. You don’t seem attached to your home or the people who live her. Those same people would just as soon see Snow become queen. You’re not from her to begin with.”

The queen couldn’t argue, truthfully. She had just never considered leaving. She laughed off the idea that day, but it stayed with her for weeks.

Wouldn’t you know, he was right?

One evening, after a naked romp in nature and a luxurious walk in the woods — their meetings were becoming more like romantic dates by the day — the queen finally blurted her feelings to her beau.

“I think you’re right. I can leave. And maybe I should. But where would I go?”

Her question ignited a conversation among them, one that started hesitantly but soon became excited and hopeful, as they planned a future together.

The two plotted their escape. The queen knew the search for her would be brief if at all, should she disappear. The huntsman had even less obligation to the kingdom, and he had the skills they would need to start a home and a life of their own. The queen had never been particularly fond of being waited on and was even excited to learn skills she would need — as his wife.

They ended their discussion and walk at the door of the huntsman’s simple cabin, but they stayed together far through the night, making feverish love for the last time in his home. The queen spread her legs for him as she lay on her back on the rug in front of the fire. The flames created shapes on the ceiling above him and warmed her skin as she stared into the fire on all fours. The huntsman roughly gripped her fleshy hips as he came in this position, and the pair collapsed together before he would walk her back to the palace.

The next week passed in a blur as the queen picked out the items she would need. So many of her belongings were fit for a queen, but she realized that the position was never really right for her, especially since the death of her beloved king. As she packed the most practical of her clothing and shoes and a few beloved trinkets, the queen realized she valued little more than the company of the huntsman.

She had fallen in love, and her life was falling back into place.

You might think that the queen’s story could end here, another chance at a happy ending, but you’d be wrong.

The queen and huntsman met on what was intended to be her last day in the castle. They kissed and laughed and tumbled into her bed for one last session under the plush covers. Would she miss them? Perhaps, but she was more excited for the future.

The gleam in the huntsman’s eyes indicated that he felt the same, and he hugged her close before his departure. He smuggled her small packs out of the palace, promising to meet the queen at the rock outcropping where they had first met.

Time seemed to crawl by, but the queen was intent on filling it. She thought she might say goodbye to her friends in the palace, but as she made her way through the rooms, the faces that greeted her belonged to strangers. Perhaps they had been warm once, but they were barely cordial as the queen moved from room to room. Upon realizing this, the queen considered whether she might say goodbye to the princess. The two barely spoke to begin with, but the pair had rarely seen one another since the queen became so focused, first on the huntsman and then on making her escape.

Finally, it was time for the queen to begin her stroll through the forest. No one thought anything of it as she donned her cloak and slipped out through one of the lesser-used doors. They were used to the queen leaving and, perhaps, preferred it that way.

The familiar walk through the forest path was less calm and more exciting than usual, and the queen had to fight a skip in her step. While there were few people around, she was still the queen, after all.

As she approached the curve in the path that would lead directly to nature’s throne, she thought she heard the huntsman’s voice. She slowed her pace, careful not to give away her location. Perhaps he had run into someone who would question a secret meeting in the woods between the two.

But as the throne came into view, so did the huntsman. And so did the visage of the princess, her bare skin nearly reflecting the sunlight as her body bounced haphazardly on top of the huntsman’s. Her frame looked tiny in comparison to his. It was almost comical, this nearly-girl atop a middle-aged man.

Yet it wasn’t funny at all to the queen, the broken woman who had fallen in love with this man. She was equal parts angry and confused as she stormed toward the couple. Her eyes shined with emotion as she approached the pair, unfortunately, at the exact time when the huntsman was releasing his seed into her stepdaughter’s cunt. The picture came into painful focus for the queen, and the rest of the world seemed to fade around them.

The queen made eye contact with him first. He looked startled and ashamed, much like he had at her first meeting. But it was his shame that was predominant as he stammered, trying to say something, anything, to the queen.

Snow, on the other hand, was her typical self: cute bordering on oblivious to the world around her. But her eyes betrayed her. There the queen could see deception and the princess’s plot come to fruition. She locked eyed with the queen, her cruelty so obvious that the queen could no longer deny the truth. Snow White had always been in control. It had always been her intent to make the queen’s life a living hell. She had succeeded with such subtlety that even the queen herself had been blind to the fact let alone everyone else.

You might say it was this very moment when the queen became evil, but it was what happened next that would truly harden her heart so impenetrably that she would only be remembered for her actions after the fact.

“Mother dearest,” spoke up Snow as she rose from the huntsman’s body. “You’ve caught me at such an inopportune time, my thighs wrapped around this huntsman, a nobody who is certainly below my station and old enough to be my father. How a woman like me could find herself in such a position,” the princess nearly giggled at this, “I don’t know. I’m sure you understand what I mean, stepmother.”

It was Snow’s words, unkind and chosen so carefully, that finally sent the queen over the edge. But the queen realized that she could never let this monster know that. Instead, she drew all of her resolve, lifted her royal skirt and turned around to return to the castle.

It wasn’t fair. It never was, but the queen would stop caring around what was fair after that.

The huntsman scrambled after her, but his state of undress and the queen’s hurried steps allowed her to return to the castle well before he could. Rather than hide away in her room like she had for months before, the queen returned to her throne room.

So the princess and the peasants thought she didn’t belong there? She would show them!

The queen sat regally upon her throne, the crown she had been willing to part with forever just a few hours prior upon her head. It was this visage that the huntsman was presented with when he entered the throne room. He had never seen her like this before, their class differences so obvious. With an icy command, the queen cleared the room of all personnel. As the huntsman made his way down the carpet that ended just in front of her throne, there was nothing but stillness in the room. When the doors finally closed after the last person left, the sounded echoed through the chamber.

Oh, the huntsman would bed and plead. His apologies and there were many of them, fell on ears that were suddenly deaf to his pleas. She would hear none of it, but when he was finally silent and on his knees in front of her, much like he had been during their first meeting, she would finally speak.

“Huntsman, you are a member of the kingdom, the kingdom that I rule. As your queen, you are to obey me. Do you know what would please me?”

The huntsman was eager to gain her favor again. Had anyone else been privy to the seen, they would remark that the huntsman was certainly sincere in his regret and absolutely in love with the queen. The right person might even have realized that the queen’s actions, cold as they seemed, were only because she had once been in love with the man. But no one was there. No one heard the huntsman ask without any pride how he might please the queen.

And no one was there to hear the queen command the huntsman to kill Snow White, her manipulative yet beautiful stepdaughter, the princess who was adored by her kingdom.

No one but the queen saw how crestfallen the huntsman became at this suggestion, and the queen certainly didn’t care. He hadn’t cared when he had ripped her heart from her chest. It only seemed poetic that the huntsman bring the queen Snow’s very own heart, a heart that had never loved and broken as intensely as the queen’s own heart.

There were no witnesses to this exchange. The huntsman only nodded silently in agreement, knowing that he not only deserved the punishment but also that it was no redemption. It was too late for that.

Yet, somehow, everyone knows the story as it continues. They know that the huntsman couldn’t bring himself to do this. They know that he brought the queen a pig’s heart, instead. They know that Snow White found refuge with seven small men in a cottage in the woods, a woods that the queen had once loved. They do not know, however, that these were lascivious and lecherous men whom Snow would allow to penetrate her every orifice at any time of day.

No one knows that this is where the story actually ends: with a young woman content to live out her days covered in semen from any number of man, an old queen whose heart had been hardened to coal and a huntsman so haunted by his actions that he would drink himself a slow death.

But now you know.

Like I said, it’s entirely unfair.

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Categories: Stories