Once upon a time in midwinter, when the snowflakes were falling like feathers from heaven, a queen sat sewing at her window. As she sewed, she looked up at the snow and pricked her finger with her needle. Three drops of blood fell into the snow. The red on the white looked so beautiful that she thought to herself, “If only I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood in this frame.”
One year later, she bore a daughter whose skin was white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony wood. They named her Snow-White. But soon after, the queen died. Shortly afterward, the king took another wife. She was young, beautiful, and smart. And she had a magical mirror.
Almost 20 years later, on one spring morning when the sun was shining, and birds were singing, the queen spoke as she did every Sunday with her trusted mirror.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”
“You are, my Queen, but you know, the men’s eyes are all captivated by another one,” answered the mirror.
“Another one? And who might this be?”
“Well, it is not her beauty that attracts them, it is the way she looks at them.”
The queen was lost for words. Of course, Snow-White! The girl had indeed become more and more attractive, with her perky tits pushing to escape her corset, yet somehow she looked more innocent than a nun.
The mirror started to speak again. “I prepared a little collage with the highlights of her skills. You should have a glass of red wine with it.”
The queen looked stunned as the mirror displayed the scenes: first, a heavy kissing and petting session with a stable boy, finished by a great hand-job that left him trembling. Then came a steamy 69 session with one of the cooks, both naked on the kitchen table. “Dinner and a show!” chuckled the mirror. Afterwards, she was on her knees, taking effortlessly the full length of what looked like a monster dick belonging to one of the guard captains, losing not a single drop of the precious liquid that accompanied his powerful release.
The mirror’s surface rippled with a sly grin. “Oh, my Queen. Getting a bit… steamy over her talents, are we? Perhaps you’d like to see more, especially when you’re soaking in that hot bath this evening?”
The queen smirked, leaning in close. “Maybe I should. Now, back to Miss Pure-as-Snow.”
The mirror shimmered, its voice dripping with amusement. “It’s no wonder she’s turning into such a greedy little thing. She gets that hunger straight from her mother.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, the court still whispers about it,” the mirror purred. “Your husband is quite the lover, you know that! strong, tireless, impressive in every way. But even he wasn’t enough to keep her satisfied for long. Many, many men tried. She was remarkably good at hiding it, too. The king remained blissfully oblivious to all of it. They even say her death came from that potion she took. It was meant to tighten her back up nice and fresh after the birth. Tragic, really.”
The queen arched a delicate brow. “Strong, tireless… are you flattering him, or?” She let the question hang for a moment, then added with a hint of suspicion and mischief, “I hope you didn’t dare watch us make love.”
The mirror gave a soft, velvet chuckle. “Sorry, ‘make love’? You on all fours like a bitch in heat, hair yanked back hard while he rubs your clit mercilessly and pounds you relentlessly? Yes… I may have caught a glimpse or two of your lovemaking!”
A startled laugh escaped the queen’s lips before she could stop it. “You filthy, shameless glass.”
“Merely honest,” the mirror replied smoothly. “And you do sound rather lovely when you forget to be regal.”
The queen’s flush deepened, but her lips curved into a wicked little smile. “Careful, or I’ll have you melted down into a chamber pot.”
“How terrifying,” the mirror teased. Then its tone shifted. “Speaking of insatiable appetites… if you don’t want your dear stepdaughter following in her mother’s footsteps and spreading those pretty legs for half the castle, you should act soon.”
The queen, afraid to hear the answer, whispered, “Tell me that she is still a virgin, please!”
The mirror answered, “That gate is still intact, but you have to take action, my dear. I don’t think it will take long until one of the men here is dumb enough to use that sweet pussy properly.”
The queen straightened, her mind racing with wicked schemes. “Then let’s lock it shut. Mirror, find me the best producer of chastity belts. Someone that could make something unbreakable for that little minx.”
The mirror burst into silvery laughter, its surface shaking. “There are none left! It’s a real mystery why, but the gossip whispers that a certain Robin Hood threatens to cut their dicks off in their sleep if she catches chastity belt maker or seller peddling in the country.”
“Okay, no chastity belt,” said the queen, tapping her chin. “Let’s see—the Convent of Virgin Nuns is close by. We’ll send her there.”
The mirror’s chuckle deepened. “Yes, but you should check the reviews first.”
“What?”
“Yeah, most clients complain their daughters came back virgins, all right… but full-on lesbians.”
The mirror shimmered mischievously. “If you’re set on convents, there’s another one, but it’s far away and very expensive. Reviews are mostly good here.”
The queen perked up. “Mostly?”
“Just some girls who started loving anal a little too much.”
The queen straightened decisively. “Call in the huntsman.”
He entered swiftly, bowing low. She instructed him: “Tomorrow morning, take Snow-White discreetly to the convent up in the mountains.”
The man bowed his head as he understood and added, “You want her heart as proof—or any other preference?”
The queen’s eyes flashed with fury. “Not kill her, you idiot! Escort her!”
A week later, the huntsman staggered into the throne room, ragged clothes torn, eyes hollow, dirt caked on his face. He dropped to his knees before the queen. “Mercy, Your Majesty! I beg you…”
She leaned forward, voice like ice. “Where is Snow-White?”
“Gone, my Queen. Somehow… she put something in my wine. I slept for hours. When I woke, the horse and carriage were long gone.” He trembled. “She vanished into the woods.”
The queen’s fists clenched. “Mirror!” she snapped, turning to her trusted glass. “Help me. She has to be in those woods somewhere.”
“Yes, my Queen, but searching the whole forest could take months.”
And yes, several months later when the queen had almost lost all hope, the mirror’s surface swirled, revealing a quaint little cottage nestled deep in the woods. Seven small figures moved about industriously, chopping wood and tending their garden. And Snow-White among them, singing, “Someday my prince will cum.”
“Ah,” the mirror said with theatrical sympathy. “Your precious stepdaughter has found lodging with the seven dwarfs.”
The queen’s eyes widened. A wicked smile spread across her lips as vivid images flooded her mind. “Seven of them… all living under one roof with a girl like her. I can only imagine the orgies. The wild, endless sex!”
“Oh my, what a delightfully perverted mind you have, Your Majesty. The dwarfs are practically monks. Sworn to celibacy, pure as freshly fallen snow. They spend their days mining and their nights singing lullabies. No debauchery whatsoever.”
The queen exhaled in visible relief. She pressed a hand to her chest and looked upward. “Thank the gods. Then she might still be a virgin after all. What a blessing.”
The mirror’s voice turned sweetly sarcastic. “You may call it that.”
The image in the glass shifted. Now it showed the same cottage at midnight. The seven dwarfs were trudging up the forest path, half-guiding, half-pushing a tall, strapping young blacksmith between them. Snow-White waited in the doorway wearing only a thin white shift, her black hair loose and her eyes shining with unmistakable hunger.
“See?” the mirror continued cheerfully. “She didn’t turn the dwarfs into her lovers. She turned them into her private catering service. Discreet, reliable, and surprisingly efficient. Every night they go to the next village, scout a properly equipped fellow, smuggle him in, and stand guard while he pounds her into oblivion. Then they politely escort him out before dawn and go back to mining like nothing happened.”
The queen stared, mouth slightly open.
The mirror wasn’t finished. “Grumpy complains the whole time about the noise. Doc keeps records. Happy thinks it’s the best job they’ve ever had. And Bashful… well, he peeks.”
A stunned silence filled the chamber.
Then the mirror added, with a wicked lilt, “So… interested in your daughter’s skills, Your Majesty? Maybe just the top ten scenes?”
“Make it top twenty. You are never too old to learn new tricks,” said the queen with a cunning smile.
“Okay. Now that you’ve found her, I’ll send my men to bring her home. Until she arrives, you announce that the most beautiful princess is ready for marriage. Make her look sexy, but innocent. And most importantly, I need to work on the restoration potion.”
“The kingdoms are full of dumb princes; I sure I'll find one.”
“If I don’t guide her, the court will devour her alive and drag her father down with the scandal. He may be oblivious, but he doesn’t deserve to be made a fool twice.”
Then she summoned her sniveling chamberlain, a weaselly man with a creepy smile.
“First,” the queen demanded, “the fresh, steaming shit from a bull that never mated.”
The servant’s quill shook as he wrote: bull shit, noted.
“Then, the shed skin of the most cunning snake in the enchanted forest. A cherry, no, seven cherries! All perfect. Some powdered unicorn horn, the tears of a blushing virgin, the fresh juice of a pomegranate.”
“And finally,” she said, “an unbroken spider’s web, perfectly intact.”
Over the next weeks, the palace became a cauldron of chaos and foul odors. On the final night, the Queen stood in her private alchemy chamber, sleeves rolled up, stirring the bubbling cauldron with a silver ladle. The mixture glowed an unsettling shade of brown.
“Smells like teen spirit,” the mirror observed. “One cup and she will be brand new again. Down there, at least. Side effects may include… it’s such a long list. Should I read them to you? It’s not like these things happen, no?”
Meanwhile, deep in the woods, the Queen’s huntsmen found the little cottage and waited for the dwarfs to go to work. Snow-White, still flushed and languid from the previous night’s lovemaking, barely had time to protest before a cloth soaked in a powerful sleeping potion was pressed over her mouth. A few days later, she found herself back in the grand palace like nothing had happened.
The magic mirror had once again proven its worth. It had scoured the kingdoms and located the perfect match: Prince Florian — not particularly handsome, certainly not clever, but so obscenely rich that his family could have bought the entire enchanted forest. As expected, the young prince was instantly captivated by Snow-White’s wide-eyed charm. Or perhaps it was the Queen’s “special” wine, generously spiked with aphrodisiac herbs. Who could say for certain?
People whispered it was love at first sight.
The queen insisted on a grand, lavish wedding, sparing no expense, Florian footing every gilded bill, ever the “true gentleman.” It was like in a fairy tale.
Snow-White, well prepared and instructed by her stepmother, played her role to perfection. She sat demurely beside the prince at the banquet table, hands folded in her lap, batting her lashes like a baby deer lost in the woods.
“Oh, Your Highness,” she breathed in the most innocent voice, “you are so very strong and charming. My poor little heart flutters like a butterfly whenever you look at me. I’ve never felt such… such warmth before. It must be true love!”
Prince Florian, already three glasses deep in the spiked wine, grinned stupidly and reached for her hand. “You are the fairest of them all, Snow-White. I love you.”
When the clock chimed midnight, the joyous couple bade farewell to their guests and retired to the matrimonial royal bedchamber. Each was led to their antechamber, where diligent servants arrayed them for the night’s sacred duties. After that, the prince entered the bedroom at last, clad in nothing but a silken robe, his eyes full of desire.
Snow-White sat primly in the center of the grand bed, nightgown buttoned to the throat, sheets pulled up to her chin. The room was softly lit by a big candle.
“My prince,” she said in a tiny, trembling voice, “before we begin… could you please turn around and close your eyes? It is not proper for a maiden to be seen while she prepares her flower.”
The prince smiled tenderly and obeyed. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
The second his back was turned, Snow-White flipped onto her stomach, shoved three pillows under her hips, yanked her nightgown up to her waist, and spread her knees wide. Her ass was now high in the air, pussy fully exposed and glistening. She pressed her flushed face deep into the remaining pillow.
“I’m ready to take your love, my prince,” she called sweetly, voice muffled.
The prince turned and froze at the sight: his innocent bride presented like an offering, back deeply arched, nightgown bunched uselessly around her waist, her tight little cunt on full display.
He swallowed hard. “My love… this is… it is…”
“It is the most modest way,” Snow-White explained primly into the pillow. “This way you cannot see my face, and I do not have to look upon your… pride. A princess must preserve her dignity at all times.”
The prince’s cock throbbed visibly. “Your modesty is truly inspiring.”
He climbed onto the bed. Snow-White wiggled once, then caught herself and held perfectly still.
“Before you make me yours,” she whispered, “could you please prepare the passage with your tongue? The old books say 101 licks would make it perfect.”
The prince lowered his face and began licking her slowly, reverently, tongue sliding through her folds—counting softly until he reached one hundred and one. Snow-White let out only a tiny, ladylike whimper. “Oh…”
Then the prince pulled back and positioned himself behind her. He pressed the head of his cock against her restored entrance and slowly pushed inside. There, his ram hit the fortress wall and he was excited to be the first at the gates. Snow-White’s voice cracked with dramatic distress. “It hurts… it hurts so much, my prince! Your royal scepter is so enormous.”
She whimpered sweetly, fingers clutching the sheets, but made no move to pull away. Instead, she turned her head just enough to look back at him with teary, adoring eyes.
“But you must continue. It is my sacred duty. Push it all in, deep, again and again. Ruin my flower, my love.”
The prince groaned in bliss and began to thrust, slow and reverent at first, then faster, losing himself in her tightness. Snow-White kept her face buried, letting out soft, proper little moans with every stroke.
“Push it all the way in, my love,” Snow-White gasped sweetly, voice full of innocent concern. The prince was already buried to the hilt, hips flush against her ass, yet Snow-White blinked back at him with wide, worried eyes. “Please push it all, my prince. I need to be properly filled in order to ensure an heir.”
The prince groaned, equal parts aroused and quietly mortified, and gave a few more desperate thrusts — though there was nowhere left to go. Suddenly, he stiffened, let out a deep groan, and came hard, hips jerking as he pumped rope after rope of cum into her.
He stayed buried inside her, panting. Snow-White lifted her head just enough, voice still perfectly prim and sweetly concerned.
“My prince… why did you stop?”
“I… I finished, my sweet love,” he gasped.
Snow-White blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, genuinely puzzled.
“But the books said true love never stops,” she protested in her most delicate, trembling voice. “It goes on and on till the break of morning, no? With many, many thrusts and much spilling of seed until the princess is overflowing with proof of devotion.”
“My love… I… this is my first time,” he admitted, voice full of embarrassment. “I thought once would be enough. Sorry, my love, I will try again for you.”
The next morning, Snow-White skipped into the Queen’s private chambers, her white nightgown now bearing three perfect drops of blood upon the white and some streaks of dried cum.
“Remember, dear,” the Queen said coolly, “your only duty now is to get that rich, simple-minded prince to impregnate you as soon as possible. It will give us peace and stability. Spare no effort. You surely are an expert on that.”
Snow-White clasped her hands in front of her, eyes wide and sparkling.
“After that,” she continued, “and only after that, if you really want it, that is, you may enjoy the company of… friends. Just be discreet.”
Snow-White tilted her head, smiling.
“Oh, you are evil!” she exclaimed in the brightest, most delighted voice. “And I love it!”
Seven days later, Snow-White and her husband departed for his distant castle. The King was overjoyed, proudly declaring that his sweet, innocent daughter had found her true prince.
The Queen smiled warmly as she handed Snow-White a small magical mirror. “Keep it close and safe,” she whispered. “So we may speak whenever you need guidance.” From that day on, the queen became the most devoted audience in the kingdom, watching the greatest soap opera of the century unfold, courtesy of her trusted glass. Maybe another lush story was already beginning.
And so, they all lived happily ever after.
