The Fairest of them All

 The request was simple: a fairy tale. A kinky, perverted fairy tale. Snow White. And why not? 

So I looked up the story. Not the Disney version, the original. The one where once upon a time, her mother said "Oh, how I wish that I had a daughter that had skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony." The one where the Queen tried to kill her by tying tight laces, by brushing her hair with poison, and then finally with the poison apple. The Brothers Grimm were true to their name. 

I think I can say fairly that grim or not, this version is at least sexy:

The Fairest of them All

She'd have to clean up after herself later. The cum dripping out of her ass and down her leg would stain the floor if she left it where it puddled, but she couldn't hold it inside anymore. She didn't want to. She would clean it. The dwarfs would never know. She had been quiet when they fucked her, as she was every day. They didn't like their women to talk, and if she did, they would find something for her mouth to do.

 For now, though, it was time to relax. Time to reflect on the joy of being alive. If it weren't for the dwarfs, the Queen would have killed her. Three times she tried, and three times they saved her.

When the huntsman was sent, the dwarfs protected her. All she had to do was cook, clean, and sew.

Then the Queen herself came, binding Snow White in a corset so tight she could not breathe, gagging her and leaving her for dead. She was so happy when the dwarfs took out the gag, giving her even a little bit of air, that she hadn't had time to tell them to take off the corset. They liked it, and so she kept it.

Then the Queen came in disguise to style her hair. She used Snow's long hair to tie her hands and feet together behind her pack. The hair pulled against her skull, and between that and the corset, she could not even yell when the Queen pushed her into the water. The corset she wore still allowed her to float enough to be seen, and being used to not breathing, she survived until found. The dwarfs saved her again, and their bodies warmed hers up, made her thankful. She agreed to serve them more completely. To be their slave so they would keep her safe, keep her happy.

They pierced her then, each dwarf adding two new holes to her body. Once in each nipple, twice in each lip, then thrice on either side of her slit. Fourteen new rings that could hold seven new locks when the dwarfs wanted her to remember how bound to them she was.

When the Queen came with an apple of poison, the bondage of the dwarfs saved Snow yet again. Her lips locked together, she couldn't get the apple into her mouth, and so could not be poisoned.

They had saved her life, and each time her slavery deepened. It went deeper and deeper, each step helping her to survive, each step keeping her more safe from the Queen.

So when they started to add to her slavery, she did not complain. She didn't argue when they bound her head to toe in rope and hid her beneath the floor boards, because she heard that day that soldiers came looking. She didn't complain when they tied her to the rafters, mouth gagged so she could not make noise, blindfolded so she wouldn't react when the guests came to dinner. She played the part of art so no questions would be asked.

And when the dwarfs decided to fuck her, she had no word of complaint. She had no desire to refuse. They had done so much for her, who was she to refuse them? When they wanted to use all three holes and fuck in groups, she let them. When they wanted her to crawl between them and suck cock after cock, she did as she was told. And now, now that they have decided to fuck her ass before leaving and again when they get home, she does as they desire.

But after, when the house is empty once more, she tries to relax. She tries to pull herself together, tries to hold on to who she once was. She tries to remember who it was the Queen wanted to kill so badly, way back when.

The hair that once drew such attention, the long raven tresses that the Queen envied so much, they were gone. All the pulling and the tugging, using her hair as a handle while they plunged into her ass had left her nearly bald. Snow White is not Rapunzle, and her hair does break if pulled too hard.

Her skin was once so white as snow, pale and perfect. Marked now with bruise and scrape, the purity of it was long gone. She was still pain, and the dwarfs were careful never to let her be scarred, but the rope burns, the rug burns, the bruises from shackle, whip, and spanking had become a constant part of her. The purity of her skin was as tarnished as the purity of her sex.

And her lips. Those lips so red as blood; those at least remained the same. When they weren't bloody, when they weren't swollen with healing, their color was still as strong as ever. The rings through her lips only heightened their appearance. Her lips, those soft, luscious lips, they were still her pride and joy. Those, at least, made her still the fairest. Those, at least, kept the Queen ready to kill her, given half a chance.

The dwarfs told her the lips were good for cock sucking, they looked so sexy wrapped around their shafts. Lips are good for that, they say. Not for talking. Women don't talk. Women do as they are told.

Snow White is a woman, and she acts as they instruct. She does as they want, because they protect her from the queen.

Eventually, her body relaxes enough for her to risk standing. She stretches her powerful and perfect legs, reaches her hands to the ceiling just a few inches above her head. She feels her breasts bounce when she turns, stretching out her back. There are bruises on her hips, the fingerprints of her seven masters. If she was permitted to wear clothing, to wear more than just the corset, she could cover those bruises. But the corset was all she had, and all she could wear.

She cleans herself in the cold, cold water where once she had almost drowned. She cleans inside and out, slipping a finger between the locked rings in her pussy, trying to find even a little relief. But sex and cold do not go together well, and when she gets out, only water drips from her.

She brushes what was left of her hair with fingernails that had once been beautiful. Once, long ago, when she had been able to get manicures, when servants and slaves looked after her every wish.

What a time. What a life. It seems so long ago, as if it happened to someone else. Someone whose pussy was not locked shut. Someone whose lips could open more than an inch without one of her master's unlocking them. Someone whose hair was black as ebony, whose lips were red as blood, and whose skin was white as snow. A princess.

Not a prisoner. Not a whore. Not a slave. Not a slut. Not someone who fucked those the dwarfs told her to fuck. Not someone who presented her bare ass for them to fuck each day when they came home. Not someone who cooked and cleaned, not someone with a collar locked around her neck.

That was someone else. That was someone who wore the jewels she wished to wear, who dressed in clothing head to toe, who wore shoes and who ate food that was still hot, rather than the scraps left over by the seven dwarfs.

She takes a deep breath and reminds herself that she is not a princess anymore. She lost that when the Queen tried to kill her. She lost that when she agreed to be a slave. And she did agree. She could leave any time. They didn't lock the doors. They didn't do anything to stop her from leaving. She could just walk away from the cottage and off to freedom if she wanted to.

She could just walk away. In a corset, her breasts hanging free. Without clothing. Without shoes. Without money. Her lips and her cunt locked shut. She could leave whenever she wanted to.

With a sigh, or as much of a sigh as the corset allows, she turned back to the cum stain on the floor near the door and went to work cleaning it.

She scrubbed the floors, she washed the dishes. She did her duties as the day passed by. She worked as she did every day, only stopping when she heard the bells.

Mourning bells. Someone was dead. Someone significant. Snow White stopped her work and listened to the bells, letting them toll for the life she once had, for the princess she had once been.

When the bells went silent, she turned back to her work, keeping the cottage clean and trying to relax herself for when the first of the dwarfs came home.

She listened to them talk as they fucked her. She had set up a stool to lay upon, one that would stop them from pushing her face to the floor, so there would be no scrapes on her face this day. She laid there quietly as they pounded into her ass, dirty from a hard day of work. She let them moan, let them pull her hair when they wanted to, and she didn't make any noise. She didn't speak or argue or whine or whimper. She let them fuck her, let them cum deep in her ass, knowing she would have to hold it in at least until they slept.

She didn't resist, but she did listen. She listened to them discuss the world in general, waiting for them to get to what she most wanted to know. It wouldn't be something that could be kept secret. Bells like that demanded discussion. If they were smart, they would know what they shouldn't say. 

But they were tired. They were horny. And they were so used to having Snow White as their slave that they didn't pay attention anymore. They didn't consider her a person anymore, and without her making noise, without her speaking, there was no reason to. She acted as their broken slave, their toy to play with as they wished, and so that's how they thought of her.

It was the fifth one who let it slip. He was near to finished when he brought it up. She could feel his cock throbbing inside her, ready to spurt like the others. “Hear the bells?” he asked. He wasn't talking to her. He was talking to number six, waiting there behind him, ready to fuck away at Snow White as soon as her ass was free.

“Yeah, yeah,” came the response. “Ding dong, the queen is dead. Big deal. You finished with that yet?”

Snow fought hard not to lift her head at those words, to hold still and pretend that she hadn't even registered what had happened as the cum went into her ass. He eyes were sparkling for the first time in a long time, and she did smile a little, even as her ass was briefly empty, then filled again with cock.

She smiled as they finished fucking her. She smiled as she served them food. She smiled as she slipped the powder into their drinks, and she smiled as they passed into a deeper sleep than normal.

The Queen is dead.

***

Snow White whistled while she worked. She knew where the ropes were kept. She knew where they stored the chains. She knew where to find the keys, and she knew how to lock the locks. She ran her tongue over her lips, feeling the holes where once she had been locked up. They would heal in time.

She whistled while she worked, spinning every so often so she could feel the skirt flare out when she did. It was the first time she had been covered in what felt like years. She whistled while she worked, taking deep breaths, the only pressure where she had tied a belt around the long shirt, turning it into a top and skirt.

The corset was on the floor, where the dwarfs would see it when they woke up.

She smiles as she thinks of that. When they wake up, that moment of wonder, that moment where they thought of how good the day would be. She hopes they will enjoy that moment, hopes they enjoy thinking of what they can do to her.

She hopes they enjoy that, because as soon as they try to get up, they'll see that they can't move. As soon as they try to struggle, they'll realize that they're tied and chained up tight. And they will get mad. They will be enraged. They will try to yell for her, to yell at her.

And when they yell, when they try to yell, they will find the gags in their mouths. And then, maybe, it will make sense. Maybe then they'll realize what has happened. Maybe then they'll realize the positions they are in, the stools they are laying across.

Maybe then they'll look up and see her, see the shirt she's wearing, see the belt making the skirt. Maybe they'll look up and see the harness, see the wooden cock she fashioned for herself last night, the last time she would ever use a broom. Maybe they'll start to understand what's happening.

She whistles while she works, gathering up their clothing and their shoes, stripping down their beds. She whistles as she sets out the needle and the hoops, ready and waiting for the piercings she will give them. All they have done to her, she will do to them.

Turnabout is fair play. That's what she will tell them. She will pat them on the head, inform them that she is once more the Princess, that they are now the slaves. She will pat them on the head and tell them that turnabout is fair play.

Then she will stand behind them and press her wooden cock against their virgin assholes. She will remind them that turnabout is fair play.

And then she will show them that she is, once more, fair. 

The fairest in all the land.