Under the Tail and Other Stories
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 62
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 62 - Hello, everybody! This is Dragonpig. I'm going to be writing a collection of stories within the anthropomorphic, or furry, genre. Some will be short stories, some will be novel-length, and others will fall somewhere in between. Yes, some of these stories will be quite explicit, while others won't be. I'm going to keep this series going until I either get bored or find that people just aren't interested in it. I'd really enjoy hearing your opinions and thoughts on my writing. Have a good one!
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Romantic Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Fairy Tale Humor Vignettes War Zoophilia Science Fiction Aliens Alternate History Space Furry Sharing Incest Mother Son Brother Sister DomSub FemaleDom Light Bond Harem Polygamy/Polyamory White Male White Female Anal Sex Analingus Bestiality Exhibitionism Fisting Flatulence Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Safe Sex Squirting Water Sports Big Breasts Public Sex Teacher/Student Nudism
Adrian’s arm is warm through the sleeve of his coat, solid and real against mine as we walk through the village market. He’s pointing at something—a display of leather goods, I think—and laughing about how his younger brother once tried to make his own belt and nearly sewed his fingers together.
I smile and nod, but I’m barely listening.
My heart is hammering so hard I’m surprised he can’t feel it through our joined arms. Every face in the crowd could be her. Every old woman selling wares, every hooded figure, every shadow between the stalls.
She’s coming. I know she’s coming.
And this time, I’m ready.
“Rose?” Adrian’s voice pulls me back. He’s looking at me with those kind eyes, concern creasing his forehead. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I force myself to breathe, to smile more naturally. “Just ... thinking.”
“About?”
About how we orchestrated all of this. About how many pieces had to fall into place to get us to this moment. About how I’m about to let my mother poison me.
“About how strange life is,” I say instead, which isn’t entirely a lie.
It’s been six weeks since the poisoned comb. Six weeks since I woke up on the cottage floor with Rapunzel hovering over me, her face tight with worry and anger.
I’d made a decision that day.
No more secrets. Not with her.
The dwarves had been furious when I told them I wanted to reveal everything to Rapunzel. Doc especially.
“You’ve stayed hidden for three years,” he’d said, arms crossed, his face stern. “Three years of safety because nobody knew who you really were. And now you want to tell the village herbalist?”
“She saved my life,” I’d argued. “She recognized the poison—a poison her own teacher makes. She’s already involved, whether we like it or not. And I think ... I think she can help us.”
Grumpy had muttered something about “trusting outsiders” and “getting ourselves killed,” but in the end, they’d agreed. Mostly because they didn’t have a better plan.
So two days later, I’d walked into Rapunzel’s shop alone.
She’d looked up from grinding something in her mortar, smiled that warm smile of hers, and said, “Rose! How are you feeling? Any lingering effects from the poison?”
“My name isn’t Rose,” I’d said.
Her hands had stilled. “What?”
“My name is Snow White. I’m the daughter of the King and Queen. My mother tried to have me killed when I was nine years old because I was getting prettier than her. The Huntsman let me go. I’ve been hiding with the dwarves ever since. And three weeks ago, my mother found me and tried to kill me with a poisoned comb she bought from your teacher.”
The silence that followed had been deafening.
Rapunzel had set down her pestle very carefully. Walked to the door of her shop, locked it, and flipped the sign to “Closed.” Then she’d turned back to me, her face unreadable.
“Sit,” she’d said, pointing to a stool. “And tell me everything.”
So I had.
I’d told her about the mirror. About being eight years old and hearing it say I was prettier than my mother. About the Huntsman and the knife at my throat and running through the woods. About the dwarves and our deal. About cutting my hair and becoming Rose and learning to cook and clean and survive.
About living in fear for three years, always wondering if she’d find me.
When I finished, Rapunzel had been quiet for a long time.
Then: “Gothel.”
“What?”
“My teacher. Mistress Gothel.” Her voice had been hard, cold in a way I’d never heard before. “She’s the only one who makes that particular poison. It’s expensive—twenty gold pieces, minimum. And she doesn’t sell to just anyone.” She’d looked at me, her eyes blazing. “Your mother bought that poison from her. My teacher tried to help kill you.”
“I’m sorry,” I’d whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“Don’t apologize.” She’d stood abruptly, pacing to the window. “Gothel is ... she’s brilliant. She taught me everything I know about herbs, about healing, about magic. But she has no morals. No lines she won’t cross if the price is right.” She’d turned back to me. “I left her service years ago because I couldn’t stomach what she was becoming. Or maybe what she’d always been and I’d been too naive to see.”
“I understand if you don’t want to get involved,” I’d said. “I shouldn’t have told you. I just—”
“Of course I’m getting involved.” She’d crossed the room, taking my hands in hers. “Snow White—Snow White, goddess, I’ve been calling you Rose this whole time—you’re innocent. Of course I’m going to help.”
Relief had flooded through me so intensely I’d almost cried.
“But we need to be smart about this,” Rapunzel had continued, already thinking, already planning. “Your mother believes you’re dead now. She’ll try again if she finds out different. We need to figure out how she found you in the first place.”
“The mirror,” I’d said. “It has to be the mirror. She asks it who’s the fairest, and it tells her. That’s how this all started.”
Rapunzel had frowned. “Magic mirrors ... they’re rare. Powerful. But they’re not infallible.” She’d gone to her shelves, pulling down books, flipping through pages. “There are ways to block them. Interfere with their sight. If I could—”
She’d stopped, her eyes widening.
“What?” I’d asked.
“I can block it.” She’d looked at me, excitement and determination mixing on her face. “I have the skill. It’s advanced magic, but I learned it from Gothel—ironically enough. If I cast a veil over you, the mirror won’t be able to see you. Won’t be able to report on you. Your mother will ask and it will be like you don’t exist.”
Hope had sparked in my chest. “Really?”
“Really.” She’d set down the book, already reaching for components. “Give me a day to prepare. Come back tomorrow and I’ll cast it.”
And she had.
I’d sat in her shop while she burned strange herbs and spoke words in a language I didn’t understand. I’d felt something settle over me—not heavy, not visible, just ... there. Like a second skin made of silence.
“Done,” Rapunzel had said, looking exhausted but satisfied. “The mirror can’t see you now. As far as it’s concerned, you’re a blank spot. A nothing.”
I’d been safe after that. For weeks, blissfully safe.
The dwarves had relaxed. I’d stopped jumping at every sound, every shadow. I’d even started to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could have a normal life.
And then one evening, Rapunzel had shown up at the cottage with a proposal.
“I’ve been thinking,” she’d said, all of us gathered around the table—me, the seven dwarves, her. “Snow White is safe as long as the mirror can’t see her. But she can’t hide forever. Eventually, she’ll need to reclaim her identity. Her position. Her inheritance.”
“She’s twelve,” Grumpy had said flatly. “She’s not reclaiming anything for years.”
“I know. But we should start planning now.” Rapunzel had looked at me. “Your mother tried to kill you because you threatened her position. Because you were prettier, and in her world, beauty is power. But what if we turned that against her?”
“How?” Doc had asked, leaning forward.
“What if we let the mirror see Snow White again? Just for a moment. Just long enough for it to tell the Queen that her daughter is alive.” Rapunzel’s eyes had been bright, calculating. “The Queen will panic. She’ll come back—she doesn’t trust anyone else after the Huntsman’s betrayal. And when she does...”
“We’ll be ready,” I’d finished, understanding blooming. “We’ll know she’s coming. We can prepare.”
“More than that,” Rapunzel had said. “We can control the situation. Choose the time, the place, the witnesses. And we can make sure that when she tries to kill you—and she will try—she fails publicly. Spectacularly.”
Bashful had whistled low. “That’s devious.”
“That’s survival,” Rapunzel had corrected. “And it’s more than that. If Snow White ‘dies’ and is ‘saved’—in front of the right people—it changes everything. She’s not just a hidden princess anymore. She’s a victim. A survivor. Someone who needs protection.”
“Protection from a prince, perhaps?” Doc had said slowly, catching on.
“Perhaps.” Rapunzel had smiled. “Especially if that prince happens to be from a nearby kingdom. One that might have ... political interests in forming an alliance.”
That’s when she’d told us about Adrian.
Prince Adrian, third son of King Malcolm of Westmarch. Not in line for the throne—his older brothers had that covered—but still valuable. Still royal. Still someone whose marriage could forge alliances, end conflicts, change the balance of power.
“He comes through the village sometimes,” Rapunzel had explained. “Buys herbs for his mother, who suffers from headaches. He’s kind. A bit naive, maybe, but genuinely good-hearted. And he’s unmarried.”
“You want her to seduce a prince?” Grumpy had sounded incredulous.
“I want her to meet one,” Rapunzel had corrected. “The rest ... well, we’ll see what happens.”
So we’d made a plan.
Rapunzel would drop the veil blocking the mirror—just for one day. Long enough for my mother to learn that I lived. Then she’d reinstate it, but by then, the Queen would already be on her way.
We’d choose the day, the location. The village market, busy and public. Lots of witnesses.
The dwarves would take special herbs—something Rapunzel grew that would let them see through magical disguises. They’d spot the Queen no matter what form she took.
And I would meet Prince Adrian.
That part, at least, hadn’t been acting.
He’d come into Rapunzel’s shop a few weeks ago, asking for headache powders for his mother. Rapunzel had introduced us—”This is my friend Rose, she helps me sometimes with deliveries”—and he’d smiled at me with those kind eyes and said it was a pleasure to meet me.
We’d talked while Rapunzel prepared his order. About nothing important—the weather, the upcoming harvest, his mother’s gardens. But he’d made me laugh, and I’d caught him staring at me twice with this slightly dazed expression that I recognized.
He thought I was pretty.
When he’d left, Rapunzel had given me a knowing look. “Well?”
“He’s nice,” I’d admitted.
“He’s interested.”
“I know.”
“Good.” She’d gone back to her herbs, but I’d seen her smile. “He’ll be back in a week for another order. Be here when he comes.”
I had been.
And the week after that.
And the week after that.
By the fourth visit, he’d stopped pretending he was just there for herbs. He’d asked if he could walk me home. I’d said yes—with a dwarf escort, of course, keeping a respectful distance. We’d talked the whole way. He’d asked about my life (I’d given him the Rose story, the one I’d been living for three years). I’d asked about his.
On the fifth visit, he’d brought flowers.
On the sixth, he’d asked if I’d like to walk through the village market with him sometime. “As friends,” he’d added quickly. “Or ... more than friends, if you’d like.”
That’s when I’d made my decision.
I’d told him the truth.
Not all of it—not yet. But enough.
We’d been sitting by the river, the dwarves visible in the distance, and I’d said: “My name isn’t Rose.”
He’d blinked. “What?”
“It’s Snow White. I’m the daughter of King Robert and Queen Elara. I’ve been hiding in the woods for three years because my mother tried to have me killed when I was nine.”
The silence had stretched so long I’d thought he might stand up and walk away.
Then he’d said: “Your father is King Robert? The King my father is currently at war with?”
“Yes.”
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