Not-So Snow White
When the Brothers Grimm compiled the story of Snow White, they left out some of the more salacious details….
Once upon a time, in a Kingdom far, far away, there lived a beautiful young Princess called Snow White. She was so named because on the same day that her mother, the Queen, discovered she was pregnant, she had pricked her finger whilst sewing, and a drop of her bright red blood had fallen upon the fresh winter snow. The Queen, a superstitious woman, believed this to be an omen and, sure enough, when the baby girl was born and the Queen saw her pale skin and cupid’s-bow lips of the brightest crimson, she declared, “I shall name her Snow White for she is just as pale as that fresh-fallen snow, and with lips like the splash of my blood that fell upon it. She shall be the purest, fairest maiden in all the land.”
Snow White’s childhood was happy and playful, until one day her mother took ill and died. Snow White was distraught, the Kingdom was plunged into mourning for their beloved Queen and…. Hang on, you already know this part. It’s quite a famous fairy-tale. You know that the King soon remarried, that his new wife, Snow White’s step-mother was a wicked and nasty bitch who fancied herself as the most beautiful woman who ever lived, and how, when Snow White blossomed into a radiant young woman and became a threat to the Wicked Step-mother’s deluded self-image, the nasty cow ordered the Woodsman to take the gorgeous Princess into the woods and kill her. Et cetera, et cetera. Read the book, saw the Disney film. Next, please….
However, when those Brothers Grimm wrote down the story of Snow White (for the story was already the stuff of folk-legend, and Jacob and Wilhelm were compilers rather than authors), the social and religious mores of the time meant that certain of the more, shall we say, salacious details, were omitted in the interests of propriety. Well, we live in a different time now, where sex sells and salaciousness is the order of the day, so let me now recount the parts of the story that you don’t know.
The Woodsman did indeed take Snow White out into the woods, and when the pair reached a secluded clearing, he lunged violently towards the Princess, yanking a handful of her jet-black hair, pulling her against his large, sweaty body, and drawing a sharp blade to her pale and delicate throat. With her back pressed against his chest, and the ripe and womanly curves of her plump bottom mashed against his groin, the Woodsman growled, “Don’t make a sound, Princess. Be a good girl, there, there.”
Snow White trembled against her burly assailant, but it was not fear that gripped her so much as arousal. For although she was technically still a virgin (after all, we all know that it doesn’t count when you use your own fingers. Or the handle of your hairbrush. Or a candlestick…), she was no stranger to that fiery magic potion called lust. Indeed, as Snow White had grown into her womanhood, she had become insatiable, and her mind was a perverted cacophony of filthy images and wild desires. And she had long been kept awake at night by fantasies of some rough, brutish commoner running his big, dirty hands all over her alabaster skin and forcing her into depraved acts of an intensely kinky nature. As the darkest wish of her furtive masturbations suddenly came into stark reality here in the dark and forbidding woods, Snow White felt a pounding pulse thrumming between her silken thighs and a trickle of warm fluid oozing from her maiden cleft. Her breathing became rapid, and her milky breasts heaved atop her tight bodice, like two Crème Caramels that had not fully set.
When the Woodsman saw Snow White’s undulating bosom and perceived the faint scent of arousal permeating from her body, he began to feel a tickling sensation in his male parts. There was no escaping the fact that the Princess was the most alluring woman in all the Kingdom, so pretty and young and innocent, and he could not deny that he had oft-times peeped furtively in the Castle windows to watch her sleeping, dressing. Bathing. Now with this delicate flower pinned against his body, her ample chest rising and falling as her ragged breathing increased in both pace and volume, the Woodsman could not help but recall every lurid fantasy of her that had ever accompanied his frequent, urgent strokings of his turgid member.
“Oh, Woodsman,” Snow White panted heavily, turning her head slightly to try and face him, and enjoying the delicious sting of her scalp as her long black hair twisted tighter in the brute’s grip. “I beg you. Do not kill me. I am still so young, and I am not ready to die. What might I do in order that you would grant me clemency and spare my life? For I would do anything, good Sir. Oh, I would do anything.”
As though to punctuate her words, naughty Snow White jutted her pert little bottom outward so that it pressed ever more firmly against the front of the Woodsman’s breeches. The Woodsman swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the beautiful minx’s raven tresses, pressing the tip of his knife-blade harder against the almost translucent skin of her neck. Though he did not do so with the intention of slitting her throat- not yet, at least- Snow White’s skin was so very fragile that the slightest prick would break the surface, and thus, small droplets of fresh blood began to bead from the tiny cut.
The Woodman, as you may appreciate, had a somewhat fetishistic fascination with blood, for one did not slay and skin as much rabbit, deer and boar as he did without developing a touch of blood-lust. And it seemed to him that Snow White was very like one of those small creatures he would hunt; fearful and full of adrenalin, trapped and tormented. A wild animal ensnared within the power of the Woodsman’s dominance. The very thought caused the pole between the Woodman’s legs to engorge. It’s rising tumescence nudged against Snow White’s backside, so warm and so very, very shapely even beneath the layers of her taffeta skirt and fine linen petticoats.
Snow White gasped when she felt the press of the Woodsman’s hardness against her bottom, for she knew that this protuberance signified her burly captor’s growing arousal. She sensed an opportunity to break from the Woodsman’s clutches, and to have a little bawdy fun at the same time, and a plan began to form in her lust-filled mind. She slowly began to roll and grind her rear-end against the Woodsman’s crotch, her body swaying from side to side in a hypnotic rhythm that caused the man to let out a throaty groan. Aggressively, he yanked Snow White’s head back, exposing her long, ivory neck, and with his rough tongue, he licked at the trickle of bright red blood as it dribbled slowly from her little wound.
“Oh, Woodsman,” Snow White purred, savouring the sensation of his warm, wet tongue and lips on her ne-er touched flesh, “won’t you let me win my freedom somehow? Whatever can I do for you to grant me such a boon?”
“My dear Princess,” the Woodsman murmured against Snow White’s throat, “I do not think that my price is one you will be willing to pay.”
“But, Sir,” Snow White replied, a mischievous smile playing upon the corners of her ripe, red mouth. “Surely there can be no price too steep to pay for one’s life!”
A deep chuckle erupted from the Woodsman, and he released his grip on Snow White’s hair in order to spin her around so that she was now facing him. Her eyes were wide, sultry and exotic, with irises so dark that they seemed almost as black as coal. With a practised flourish, the Woodsman re-sheathed his blade in the belt of weather-worn hide slung upon his hips, then grabbed at Snow White’s bodice, tearing the fabric violently and exposing her creamy breasts, peaked with perfectly pert nipples that were as red in colour as her plush velvet lips.
Snow White gasped. The Woodsman gripped her shoulders firmly and walked her backwards several steps until she felt her back press up against the trunk of a Giant Oak. Pinned as she was between the massive tree and the broad-shouldered Woodsman, Snow White felt utterly subservient, spellbound and powerless against the rising tide of passion that had so obviously possessed her captor. Her rosy nipples hardened and grew tight as the undeniable concupiscence of her predicament swelled, causing a yearning ache in her lower belly. She watched in bewitched fascination as the Woodsman began to untie the hemp cord fastening of his coarse hessian breeches with his thick, dirty fingers.
What will it look like? she wondered. Will it be as big as the rest of him? Though the basics of sex and reproduction had been explained to her by her Governess, and as such she was fully aware of where a man would stick his ploughing tool in order to till a woman’s inner pastures, Snow White had never seen the actual male implement itself. Not in the flesh, as it were. She knew the general shape, but as to the particulars, she had only her wild imaginings and nocturnal experimentations to go on (and she very much hoped the reality would be more akin to the fine marble handle of her hairbrush than the ice cold, heavily knobbled pewter of the large candlestick- ouch!).
The Woodsman let his breeches fall to his ankles, and from beneath the hem of his leather jerkin, his hard length jutted, flushed and angry. Snow White watched in bewildered awe as he took it in his meaty hand and gave it a few quick strokes, a little pearlescent bead of fluid emerging from its smooth tip. As though in a trance, Snow White dropped to her knees before the Woodsman. She was fascinated by the sight of his engorged manhood, and longed to run her lips and tongue over its fleshy contours, and to taste its liquid effusion in her mouth. In a daze, her lips parted slightly, and the Woodsman felt his balls swell as he anticipated the warm damp of the Princess’s mouth encasing his twitching rod. With a ferocious grunt, he grasped Snow White’s hair in his fist and drew her head towards his groin.
Caught between the Woodsman’s hulking form and the massive tree trunk at her back, Snow White had little choice but to accede to his demands, though in truth she was enthralled by the prospect of tasting her captor’s mouth-watering meat. As he ran his fleshy bulb over her rosy lips and smeared her waiting orifice with the drops of his desire, Snow White purred and raised her hands to grip the Woodsman’s sturdy thighs. She gave no resistance as he pushed his pole firmly between her lips and growled, “Suck it, Princess. There’s a good girl.”
Snow White obeyed, letting her lips enclose around the head of his prick and applying slow suction as she allowed her mouth to slide up and down- not going too deep, just a centimetre or so below the pronounced ridge of the crown. She relished the sensation of that raised edge slipping in and out of her lightly pursed lips, and the sound of the Woodman’s hitching breath every time his tip touched her slippery tongue. Unable to maintain any sense of regal, or maidenly, propriety, Snow White let one of her hands fall from the Woodsman’s leg, and brought it up to her exposed breast, kneading the fleshy mound and pinching her nipple between her thumb and forefinger. The Woodsman grunted his lust as he watched his captive rub and pinch at her rosy peak, and commanded, “That’s right, girl, play with those lovely, ripe titties… Both hands now, you naughy little slut. And take my prick deeper in that pretty mouth of yours…. Yes, just like that… My, my, Princess, aren’t you a hungry little wench?”
Snow White felt the slit between her legs throb as the Woodsman growled his filthy and delightfully disrespectful words. She was so used to people cow-towing to her, grovelling obsequiously and speaking with hushed reverence. The contrast of their meekness with the Woodsman’s impudent, insolent vulgarity made Snow White’s deepest recesses drip with rivulets of lust so heavy that they coated a thick lacquer on the inside of her milky thighs. With both hands, she stroked and massaged her breasts, as the Woodsman thrust his groin ever more insistently against her face.
Snow White gagged each time the Woodman’s cockhead hit the back of her throat, and her eyes filled with tears as streams of saliva dripped like silvery icicles from the corners of her mouth. Yes, she wanted to taste him and suckle on his oozing prick, but now he was being too rough, penetrating her mouth too deeply, so she gave a muffled grunt of protest and tried to pull back a little. But the Woodsman’s furious lust could not be curtailed, and not only did he continue to choke Snow White with his plunging length, but he pushed her body back roughly so that the back of her head hit the tree trunk. As he did so, he stepped forward so that his hulking frame kept the Princess pinned in place. He leaned in so that his legs, both as big as tree trunks themselves, were against each of her shoulders, and pressed his hands against the mighty oak. With his hands and knees touching the tree trunk and his helpless quarry trapped by his looming frame, the Woodsman fucked Snow White’s face hard and rough until tears streamed down her pretty, porcelain cheeks.
Snow White’s hands fell from her breasts, and she reached out blindly, trying to steady herself. Her fingers brushed against fallen leaves and twigs before she made out the rough hessian breeches pooled at the Woodman’s ankles. As she enclosed her hand around the material, trying to gain some purchase, her fingers grazed against the edge of the hide belt and the sheath in which the Woodsman had stowed his knife. A sudden thought sprung into Snow White’s mind, and with lightning reflexes, she bit down hard on the Woodsman’s thrusting prick. As he let out an angry howl and brought his hands down to cup his jewels, Snow White quickly wiped the tears that blurred her vision and lunged for the knife. The moment she had it firmly in her grasp, she plunged its blade deep into the Woodsman’s meaty thigh.
The Woodsman’s scream echoed loudly through the forest.
“You fucking bitch!” he hollered, his face turning puce with rage. “I’ll kill you, you whorish cunt!! I’ll slit your belly open and fuck your insides. I’ll……”
His litany of curses and threats of her impending violent death continued, as Snow White scurried away on her hands and knees. The Woodsman’s blade was embedded in his thigh, his deflating cock drooping sadly from his groin like an old party balloon with a slow leak. She saw murder in his eyes as he glared at her, then reached down to pull the knife free. Snow White knew immediately that the Woodsman was not bluffing and that he would indeed enact his savage threats. With her heart hammering behind her still-exposed breasts, Snow White leapt up and ran away as fast as her shaky legs could carry her…..
Liked it? Here’s Part Two:
Jupiter Grant is a self-published author, blogger, narrator and audiobook producer.
Enquiries and comments are always welcome. You can also find me on Twitter @GrantJupiter
