The Huntsman kneels by Snow White’s body and weeps. “O God!” he cries. “Why could I not save ’er? O my beloved Snow White!”

Tears running unstaunched down his cheeks, he carefully lifts Snow White’s naked sleeping body and carries it down to the stream, where he washes her from head to foot, gently rinsing the magic fruit juices and futa-cum out of her hair and off her skin, pulling the accursed apple out of her arsehole with a soft squelch and burning it, burying the ashes beneath a thick stone slab. The animals pat the Princess’ skin dry with leaves and moss, braiding her hair with wildflowers, so that she looks as beautiful in sleep as in wakefulness, whilst the Huntsman finds some logs with which to construct a low bier onto which to lay her precious body.

“Only True Love’s Arsefuck the spell shall break,” whispers the Huntsman – and so he lies Snow White on her front on the bier, knees tucked below her, bottom raised slightly upwards on a cushion of moss, leaves and flowers, so that her now tight exposed pucker smiles at the azure sky, ready for the arrival of whosoever might try to penetrate it – and break the curse.

It must be a Prince, thinks the Huntsman. That is what she would want.

And so he prepares a parchment, writing on it in tall bold letters:

The Princess Snow White is before the Cottage of the Seven Dildos in the Great Forest, locked into a Magical Slumber which may only be broken by True Love’s Arsefuck. Let any Prince in the Kingdom or Beyond approach with Love, to wake the Princess from her Curse.

“Take this,” he says to Snow White’s animal friends, “and have the finest scribes in the Land and Beyond make copies, and let them be sent to All the Ends of the Earth – that the greatest Princes in the Whole World may come and prove their Love for Snow White!”

And so the weeks pass. By day, the animals keep watch over Snow White’s body, washing and grooming her, renewing the flowers in her hair, bathing her skin in fragrant oils and perfumes, so that she remains fair as ever, her tight anus pristine, expectant and glistening. The deer stand guard, the birds sing lullabies to their sweet slumbering friend, the rabbits and squirrels tidy and trim the lawn, and the turtle just sits and watches. The Seven Dildos take the night shift, their shafts vertical, their heads pulsating with magical luminescence, casting an eerie but dignified light over the Princess’ body. And in the corner, under the eaves of the Cottage, sits Callum the Huntsman, ever weeping and mourning his lost Princess.

And so the months pass. Princes come and go, trying their luck at waking Snow White. The first is the Prince of the North, dressed in a coat of reindeer skins, with thick fur boots – despite it being the middle of summer. Tall and rugged, with short blond hair, he wears a gauntlet of woven gold. His penis is large, thick and pale, and it stands to attention as soon as he approaches Snow White’s bier and spies the beauty of her perfumed lubricated arsehole glistening at him from between her pale buttocks. “Hot fucking arsehole,” he mutters. “Dirty fucking shit-bitch: all you need is a good hard cock to ream that filthy shitter – don’t you?” He sniggers callously under his breath.

Callum stands. “Insult not my mistress!” he cries, his voice trembling and indignant.

“‘Insult not’?” laughs the Prince. “She’s nothing but a cheap anal whore – kneeling there with her arsehole exposed for anyone to come and fuck, ha!” He climbs onto the bier, cock gripped firmly in his hands, ready to plunge it mercilessly into the Princess’ anus. But the moment his cock approaches within an inch of Snow White’s arse-crack, a magical force envelops the Princess’ body, casting the Prince up into the air and hurling him fifty yards across the clearing, where he lands in a crumpled heap against a gnarled birch tree. He curses in pain and humiliation before limping away, never to be seen again.

The second Prince to arrive, as falling leaves usher in an early autumn, is the Prince of the East – slender and precious, his dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a curled moustache gracing his upper lip. Long silver robes trail along the ground behind him, and multicoloured gemstones shine on his fingers. His cock is long and thin, and it too goes erect at the first sight of Snow White’s anal beauty. He thinks – but does not say out loud – for he is a wily fellow: You could make me rich and powerful, Princess. Our Kingdoms joined could rule the World. And with your arse to fuck every night, every Pleasure would be mine!

Callum does not trust him, but has been given no reason to issue any challenge. Instead he watches suspiciously as the Prince aims his cock at Snow White’s tight pucker and lunges. However, the moment his shaft approaches within an inch of her, he too is magically thrown back. His body whirls several times head over heels in mid-air, before landing with an almighty splash in the stream.

The Prince of the South is next to arrive. By now it is cold, and a thin layer of snow lies on the ground. Snow White’s body, however, remains warm, protected in its magical slumber, and a soft mist rises from her pale exposed buttocks. Despite the weather, this Prince is bare-chested, with a leopard-skin cape over his back. Shards of shells and bones pierce his nose, ears and nipples, and the shaft of his huge black cock is pierced by a thick whale-bone peg. He laughs as soon as he sees Snow White – a loud laugh of mockery and scorn as he surveys the girl whom he has chosen to own. He pumps his cock into a huge erection and stands above the Princess. “MY FUCK-SLAVE!” he roars, as he aims at her arsehole – but screams in rage as he too is cast into the air and across the lawn, landing with a loud thump against the outer wall of the Cottage.

Callum looks down at him with scorn, and spits onto the ground.

And so it continues, month after month. Every few weeks a new Prince arrives, only to be magically cast aside as he attempts to sodomise the Princess. “True Love,” sighs Callum to himself again and again. “Will no Prince approach my Mistress with Love in ’is ’eart?”

Now it is spring again – nearly a year since the Princess was cursed, and still the animals, the Seven Dildos, and the Huntsman keep watch over her beloved sleeping body. Callum goes over in his mind, again and again, the words of the evil Queen, and of Snow White before her:

… only True Love’s Arsefuck can break this spell…

… I really ought to marry a Prince, not a ‘Cuntsman’…

… but I swear to you, my Royal Cuntsman, that the next time we meet, you may fuck the Royal Arse…

And he ponders. And he dreams. And he wonders whether he loves Snow White enough. He is no prince, though – aye, there’s the rub… But, he thinks, even if I may never marry ‘er, God knows ‘ow much I adore ‘er… True Love’s Arsefuck… Is this True Love? Will I ever know?

Well, there is one way to know, ponders the Huntsman. If I am cast away by magic and break a bone or two – well, no great matter. But if it wake the Princess and save the Kingdom, then surely it will have been worthwhile, even if she turn ‘er back on me after.

“Snow White,” he whispers under his breath, “from the day I first remember ye playing in the Palace gardens, you ‘ave been the light of my life, you ‘ave been my greatest joy. And though I be banished or executed for the perfidy of it, I can at least try this one thing, to bring your light back into the world. For what I am about to do, Snow White, I beg you to forgive me. For I do this not to possess you, but to free you…”

It is night. The animals are asleep, and the soft rainbow glow of the Seven Dildos standing guard shines over the sleeping Princess. Callum removes his clothes, walks over to the bier, bows respectfully to Snow White’s mooning buttocks, and climbs up.

Snow White is beautiful. He cannot see her face, but her bottom shines pale in the silver light of the full moon, reflecting the kaleidoscope of soft colours emanating from the Seven pulsating Dildos. Her anus, tight as a starfish, but glistening and fragrant with the oils of flowers and herbs with which the animals have dressed it, shines with unfathomable allure. The Huntsman smiles. “Snow White, you are beautiful!” he mutters. The Dildos appear to nod in affirmation.

Callum kneels next to the sleeping Princess, reaches out, and gently touches her back. It is warm to the touch, and he can sense her body slowly rising and falling with her breath. He runs his hand softly up and down her naked back, feels the gentle undulation of her smooth flesh beneath his fingers. His hand finds the crease of her buttocks, and he gently strokes one finger down into the soft valley of her bottom. It is warmer still there, and slightly moist, and he can smell the sweet sweaty scent of her fundament wafting upwards towards him. Carefully he leans over and kisses one buttock. It jiggles slightly, and the warm fragrance of the Princess’ anus rises even more richly to his nostrils.

“O Snow White!” he cries again. “May you someday find your Prince, to whom to give your vaginal virginity, to marry, and with whom to rule this Kingdom in truth and goodness.” He kisses both her buttocks now, then buries his face between them, to gently touch his lips to her anus. It is pursed, like a little mouth, creased but soft, its rich scent throwing him into joyous ecstasy. His penis begins to harden and, from where he is, gently brushes against the Princess’s calves.

Callum kisses down the backs of Snow White’s thighs, past her knees, till he finds her feet. Carefully lifting her calves upwards so he can kiss her toes, he sucks each one in turn, swirling his tongue around to taste the goodness of her flesh. His tongue traces its way back up her legs until it finds the crack of her bottom again. He can smell her vulva too, sweet and rich, but he deliberately ignores it (That’s for the Prince!) to delve his tongue back into her arse-crack. Now he is licking and probing and slobbering with joyous abandon, feeling his penis reach full strength in appreciation, as the Princess’ anus begins to soften and loosen further. Soon it opens slightly to the tip of his tongue, which he slips into the space within her winking rim, to begin a slow anal tongue-fuck.

He remembers her words:

… the next time we meet, you may fuck the Royal Arse…

“Fuck the Royal Arse,” he mutters. “God ‘elp me.” He pulls Snow White’s legs gently apart and kneels between her thighs, his rigid cock poised at her brown hole. Gently he touches his glans to her now winking pucker. To his relief, he is not magically blasted back, but feels the first drop of his pre-cum lubricate the Princess’ soft yielding flesh. He leans forward and pushes gently.

~

In her Palace, the Queen is in ecstasy. “Oh yes, my Foul Fucking Fenestration, let me bathe in thy cum, let me feel thy Servile Slime all over my body,” she moans. She has been eaten out, rimmed, fingered and fucked by her Magic Mirror, and cum adorns her face and hair, dribbles off her chin and tits, squelches into her cunt and arsehole, and forms a pungent puddle all over the floor. She crouches to slurp the gloop up off the cool marble, so she can swill it around in her mouth, savour the taste, gargle with it, and let it drool sluttishly from her mouth. She blows bubbles, letting them splatter over her face, muttering satisfied obscenities under her breath.

“Fo, am I ftill the Fairwest in the Wand, my Magic Miwt Miwwaaargh?” glubs the Queen through a throatful of fuck-slime. It is a rhetorical question, of course, for the response has been the same every day for the past year. But she loves to hear the answer, adores basking in the self-adulation it affords her. She awaits the Mirror’s customary affirmation, fingers poised to rub her clit again in confirmatory narcissistic self-pleasure.

But this time the Mirror’s response alarms her: “Fair art thou, O Quimly Queen, whether pristine or Covered in Cum. But just one more proof I need to confirm thy Pre-eminent Pulchritude. Turn and face me again, O Whoring Highness, that I may douse thy face with my Windowpane Wee, wash my gloop off your Beauteous Body with my Pungent Piss, see thee drowned in Number One!”

“What?” trembles the Queen. “Is that truly necessary, O Wanking Windowglass?”

“If thou wouldst know that verily thou art the Fairest in the Land, then it must be done, O Queen,” intones the Mirror solemnly.

In bewilderment and confusion, the Queen kneels.

~

Callum feels the full length of his cock slowly slide into the Princess’ rectum. “Oh,” he whimpers, as bliss overtakes him.

“Ohhh…” moans another voice. “Is that you, Callum the Cuntsman?”

“Princess? Princess Snow White?” Callum’s voice trembles. “What, awake? Is the spell broken then?”

“Oh, I’m terribly glad it’s you, Master Callum,” squeaks Snow White. “What took you so long? I did say you could fuck the Royal Arse, didn’t I? And those Princes were such a bunch of deadbeats: I’d much rather be fucked by you!”

Callum the Cuntsman laughs – a great peal of laughter, full of joy and relief, which makes his cock jiggle in the depths of his lover’s rectum. He feels Snow White push upwards against him, drawing him even deeper into her, so that his testicles slap against her damp vulva. “Go on then, Master Cuntsman, pound that Royal Arse! Or need I do my ridiculous West Country impression again?” Snow White giggles.

“Yer Majesty may do as she pleases!” chuckles the Hunstman, as he begins to slide his cock in and out of the Royal Rectum, feeling it squeeze him tight as he fucks his beloved mistress.

“I should jolly well think so!” laughs the Princess. “And so I think I will stick to my own accent, if that’s all right with you. After all, if I’m going to merry you I will have to keep up some standards, won’t I?”

Callum freezes, his cock buried halfway into his mistress’ rectum. “Wha-at?” he stutters in shock. “Marry me?”

“Well, otherwise how ever are you going to take my vaginal virginity, young man?”

“But… I thought that was only for a Prince!” replies Callum, his cock still stuck Excalibur-like in the Royal Arsehole. In his astonishment, he has stopped fucking.

“Oh yes, I quite forgot! Quick, on your knees, spit spot!” Snow White pushes Callum out of her anus and off the bier, and gestures for him to kneel at her feet. “Now, where’s that ridiculous axe of yours?” (Of course, she pronounces it “ex” – as a Princess should.) “Ah!” she spies it leaning against the wall of the Cottage, walks over, and drags it back to her kneeling Huntsman, whose cock remains stiff with desire despite his bewilderment. Summoning all her strength, she lifts the axe high above her head before swinging it downwards towards Callum. The Huntsman screams in terror – but the Princess, stronger than she looks, halts the weapon just above his shoulder, giggles, and rests it there, before declaiming in her most solemn tones, “I dub thee Prince Callum the Cuntsman, Royal Consort! Now arise, Prince Cuntsman, and fuck me!!!” She drops the axe, and opens her arms wide with glee.

~

The Queen is kneeling on the marble floor before her Mirror, her hands clasped behind her back, eyes shut tight, face upturned, mouth open wide.

“Take this, Palace Pisswhore,” sneers the Mirror, before the Queen feels a thick stream of Pungent Pee stream into her mouth. She chokes and spits out the golden liquid – but it continues to flow, streaming over her face, hair and tits, washing her body clean of semen. A foul melange of piss and cum courses down her skin and onto the floor, leaving her crouched, humiliated and stinking of asparagus, her skin steaming with fresh urine.

The Queen holds back her tears, repeating boldly, though through trembling lips, “Am I the Fairest of Them All, O Mirror? Say it now!”

There is a long pause, before the Mirror speaks: “Fair art thou, O Queen, and thy lips are red as the rose, thy skin as white as snow, thy hair black as ebony; thy tits as Fulsomely Fuckable, thy Courtly Cunt as tight and pink, thy August Arsehole as Pungently Perfect as any in the Land. Thou art indeed fair, whether immaculate of air, or even covered with cum and piss. But behold – Snow White has awoken, roused from slumber by Callum the Royal Huntsman, by the power of True Love’s Arsefuck. She is again the Fairest in the Land!”

“WHAT?!” screams the Queen. “Betrayed again?!! GUAAARDS!!!”

The guards come running, led by their Captain Sir John de Thomas. They screech to a halt at the threshold, as they see their Queen crouched on the floor in the middle of a foul pond, reeking of piss and cum. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” she screeches. “Snow White has been awoken by the Royal Huntsman! I want them both dead! Into the Forest, all of you, and bring their filthy heads to me on a platter! NOW!!!”

But Sir John pauses, as he realises what has happened. He remembers Callum’s plea for help a year ago. He recalls his own failure at the time: tractable enough to quietly let the Huntsman go free, yet too cowardly to offer assistance to his quest. He thinks of his secret beloved Annie, and realises again that, if the benevolent Snow White were on the throne, he could marry her. He feels ashamed at his own small-mindedness, his lack of ambition and principle. And then he looks down at his Queen, pathetically crawling through her stinking puddle, sploshing and glubbing through cum and piss, now pawing at his foot: “Sir Thomas, I want her dead. Go, bwing me my step-daughter’s head. Because I want to be the Fairwest in the Whole Fucking Wand! I want to be pwetty! I want to be beautiful! I want it! Want it! Want it!”

The scales fall from Sir John’s eyes, and he realises the illusory futility of his position, recognises his own cowardice, sees how he has collaborated with evil all these years. He looks with distaste at the pathetic excuse of a Queen wriggling before him, imagines again what could instead be, if justice and truth were restored to the Land. Now his decision is made: he raises his sword, and brings it down in one mighty swoop; its task is accomplished in a stroke.

~

Meanwhile, Snow White is lying on her back on the soft grass before the Cottage of the Seven Dildos. Callum the Cuntsman is poised above her, his hard cockhead gently nudging at her vulva. She spreads her outer lips with her fingers to expose her intact hymen, stretched and inviting, whilst intoning with ecclesiastical solemnity:

Gratias agimus tibi propter labia maiora tua!

Callum’s cock ruptures Snow White’s hymen in one mighty swoop; its task too is accomplished in a stroke.

And so Snow White and her Cuntsman fuck, and fuck, and fuck. Sometimes his cock plunges in and out of her tight wet cunt, sometimes nestles deep in her magnificently gaping arsehole, sometimes slides back and forth between her bulging breasts, sometimes explores the depths of her dribbling throat. With exultant abandon he sucks her fulsome tits, he eats her hot pink pussy, his tongue curling and scooping so as to revel in the glorious tang of her deep-cunt slime, before slithering downwards to flick and probe again at her pungent anus. She in turn sucks his cock, sometimes sliding down to lick his heavy balls whilst her delicate palm strokes his throbbing shaft, before burying her beautiful royal visage between the Huntsman’s buttocks to taste his hairy rim. And they both come again and again and again, their bodies rolling and lunging and embracing with joy, their juices mixing and melding as they laugh and whoop and proclaim their shared ecstasy to the world.

Throughout, the Seven Dildos maintain their guard of honour, their soft kaleidoscope of colours illuminating the scene unfolding before them. They do not interfere or join in – for, though lustful in inclination, and desirous as any would be of the fragrant depths of the Princess’ orifices, they are nevertheless wise Dildos, and know to rein in their concupiscence, to honour others’ True Love.

As dawn breaks over the clearing, the Dildos end their vigil and disappear, and the animals wake up, to chirrup and gambol with delight at their Princess’ awakening. Then Snow White and her Huntsman pause their fucking for a while, and she says, “Prince Callum the Cuntsman, will you marry me?”

Of course she pronounces it a bit like “merry me” – as a true Princess should.

And of course, Callum says yes.

~

There is great rejoicing in the Land at the news of the evil Queen’s death, and the rightful accession of the new Queen Snow White. She is crowned in the Abbey amid great pomp and circumstance, before she and Prince Callum are married.

Freed from the shackles of the old regime, Sir John de Thomas and Annie the scullery maid are also wed. Prince Callum acts as Best Man, and Snow White – in a breach of courtly etiquette, to be sure, but to great popular acclaim – is her Chief Bridesmaid. No one notices, though, when Snow White leans forward and whispers into Annie’s ear, “Is ‘e goin’ to fuck yer arrse tonoight, Annie?”

Annie giggles.

And They All Live Happily Ever After.

THE END.