Under the Tail and Other Stories
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 63
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 63 - 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
My womanly parts pleasantly ache as I lie on the bed, still catching my breath. Grumpy—ironic name for a dwarf who just spent the last hour making me scream with ecstasy —is already pulling on his trousers, muttering something about needing to check the western shaft before dinner.
“Clean yourself up,” he says without looking at me. “Supper needs to be ready in an hour. And the floor in the main room needs scrubbing again.”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
He leaves, the door closing with a solid thunk that echoes in the small room.
I stare at the ceiling—rough-hewn beams, nothing like the painted frescoes of my chambers in the castle. My chambers. Were they ever really mine? The King gave them up as easily as he gave up everything else.
As easily as he gave up me.
I sit up slowly, my body protesting. There’s a basin of water on the small table—they always leave one for me after. Considerate, in their way. I dip the cloth in and begin cleaning myself, the cool water soothing against my flushed skin.
The diamonds at my throat catch the lamplight. The bracelets at my wrists clink softly as I move. They gave me these—gifts, they call them. Rewards for good service. For keeping their home spotless. For cooking meals that make them groan with satisfaction. For spreading my legs whenever they want.
I was a Queen.
I am a whore.
No—not even that. Whores get paid in coin and choose their clients. I get jewels and compliments and I have no choice at all.
Except...
I close my eyes, remembering.
The messenger had arrived on a gray morning, six months after I’d bought that poisoned apple from Gothel. Six months after I’d watched that irritating girl bite into it and collapse in the market square. Six months after I’d returned to the castle triumphant, certain she was finally, finally dead.
The mirror had different news.
“Mirror, mirror,” I’d asked that night, still flushed with victory, “who’s the fairest of them all?”
“Snow White,” it had answered. “Snow White, who was saved by the prince’s kiss. Snow White, who is beloved by the people. Snow White, who lives.”
I’d screamed. Thrown things. Raged until my voice went hoarse.
She. Would. Not. Die.
I’d been planning my next attempt—something more direct, perhaps a blade in the dark, hiring an assassin who wouldn’t fail like the Huntsman had—when the messenger arrived.
From the Warenmarch Kingdom. Prince Adrian’s kingdom.
The King—my husband, that weak, pathetic man—had summoned me to the throne room. I’d gone, annoyed at the interruption, still thinking about poisons and knives and ways to make my daughter’s death look accidental.
The messenger had been young, polite, holding a sealed letter with the royal crest of Warenmarch.
“His Majesty King Malcolm sends his regards,” the messenger had said. “And a proposal for peace.”
Peace. We’d been at war with Warenmarch for eight months over some tedious border dispute. I hadn’t cared—wars came and went, and as long as they didn’t interfere with trade routes that brought me silk and jewels, they were irrelevant.
My husband had opened the letter. Read it. Gone very pale.
“What does it say?” I’d demanded.
He’d looked at me then—really looked at me—and I’d seen something in his eyes I’d never seen before. Not love. Not desire. Not even the usual weak adoration.
Hatred. And resolve.
“King Malcolm proposes an alliance,” he’d said slowly. “His son, Prince Adrian, wishes to marry. The King will end the war, establish favorable trade agreements, and forgive the outstanding war debts...”
“Wonderful,” I’d said impatiently. “So accept it. Who’s the prince marrying? Some minor noble’s daughter? One of the northern lords has a pretty enough child, I suppose—”
“Snow White.”
The words hadn’t made sense at first.
“What?”
“Prince Adrian wishes to marry Snow White. Our daughter. Who, according to this letter, has been living in the forest under the protection of the mountain dwarves for the past three years.”
The room had tilted.
“She’s dead,” I’d lied. “The Huntsman said she was killed by a wild boar in the woods years ago —”
“He was mistaken, apparently.” My husband’s voice had been flat. “She’s alive. She’s been alive this whole time. And now she’s betrothed to a prince.”
My mind had raced. Safe. The girl was making alliances. And now she was marrying into a powerful kingdom, which meant she’d have protection, resources, an army—
“There’s more,” my husband had said.
Of course there would be.
“King Malcolm has one additional term for the alliance.” He’d looked at me again with those eyes that said he’d already made his choice. “He requires that Queen Elara be remanded into his custody as part of the agreement.”
The words hadn’t registered at first.
“Custody?”
“You will be delivered to Warenmarch as a condition of peace.”
“I—what?” I’d laughed. Actually laughed, because it was absurd. “You can’t be serious. I’m the Queen. I’m your wife. You can’t just—”
“I can.” His voice had been quiet but firm. “And I will.”
“You’re going to hand me over like—like property? Like a hostage?”
“You tried to murder our daughter.” The words had come out hard, cold. “Twice that I know of. Probably more. The Huntsman finally confessed everything a couple hours ago —the liver, the knife at her throat, how he let her go because she was just a child and you wanted her dead because she was pretty.”
“She was a threat—”
“She was nine years old!”
I’d never heard him shout before. It had startled me into silence.
“You are a monster,” he’d continued, his voice dropping back to that terrible quiet. “You are vain and cruel and you tried to kill our child because your mirror told you she was prettier than you. Do you understand how insane that is? How evil?”
“I’m the Queen—”
“Not anymore.” He’d folded the letter carefully. “I’m accepting King Malcolm’s terms. The war ends. The alliance is formed. And you will be delivered to Warenmarch within the month.”
“You can’t do this.” My voice had risen, shrill with panic. “I’m your wife! I’m the Queen! You need me—”
“I don’t.” He’d looked at me with something like pity then. “I never did. You were beautiful and I was flattered that you’d marry me. But you’ve brought nothing but misery to this castle. Our daughter fled into the woods rather than stay under your roof. The servants are terrified of you. The nobles whisper behind your back. You’ve been a blight on this kingdom since the day we married.”
“So you’re just going to send me away? To what? Prison? Execution?”
“I don’t know.” He’d shrugged. “The letter doesn’t specify. It just says you are to be remanded to their custody. What they do with you after that is their concern, not mine.”
I’d stared at him, this man I’d married, this weak king I’d manipulated for years.
And I’d realized he was serious.
“I could refuse,” I’d said. “I could fight this. I have allies—”
“You have no one.” His voice had been matter-of-fact. “I’ve already spoken with the council. They’re in agreement. This alliance ends the war, saves thousands of lives, and removes a Queen who attempted to murder her own child. They’ve all voted to approve the terms.”
“You can’t—”
“It’s done, Elara.” He’d stood, looking down at me. “You have one month to prepare. Use it however you wish.”
He’d left me there in the throne room, alone.
I’d gone to my chambers. To my mirror.
“Mirror, mirror,” I’d whispered, my voice shaking with rage and fear, “who’s the fairest of them all?”
“Snow White,” it had answered. “Snow White, who will be Queen of Warenmarch. Snow White, who has won.”
“This isn’t over,” I’d hissed. “I’ll find a way. I’ll escape. I’ll—”
“You will do nothing,” the mirror had said, and there was something almost pitying in its tone. “You have lost, my Queen. Your daughter has outplayed you. And now you will pay the price.”
I’d smashed a vase against the wall. Then another. Then I’d collapsed on my bed and—goddess help me—I’d cried.
Not because I loved my husband. Not because I regretted trying to kill Snow White.
But because I’d lost.
For the first time in my life, I’d didn’t get what was mine.
The month had passed in a blur. I’d considered running, but where would I go? I had no allies, no resources of my own. Everything I had came through my position as Queen.
I’d considered fighting, but the guards had been given orders. I was watched constantly. The few servants who’d been loyal to me had been reassigned.
I’d considered begging, but my pride wouldn’t allow it.
So when the escort arrived—soldiers from Warenmarch, professional and cold—I’d gone with them.
They’d taken me north, through the mountains, to a small cottage in the forest.
The dwarves had been waiting.
“Queen Elara,” Doc had said, his voice formal but his eyes amused. “Welcome to your new home.”
“What is this?” I’d demanded. “Where’s King Malcolm? Where’s the castle?”
“This is your new home,” he’d repeated. “As payment for three years of protection we provided to Princess Snow White, she’s given us ... you.”
I’d stared at him. At the seven dwarves standing in a semi-circle around me. At the cottage behind them—small, rustic, nothing like the palace I’d left.
“I’m a Queen,” I’d said, my voice shaking. “You can’t—I’m a Queen—”
“Not anymore,” Grumpy had said. “Now you’re our housekeeper. You’ll cook, clean, do laundry, tend the garden, and anything else we need. In exchange, we’ll provide room and board and keep you alive.”
“And if I refuse?”
Doc had shrugged. “Then you’re in violation of the treaty terms. Which means you’ll be returned to your husband, who will be obligated to execute you for attempted murder of the crown princess. Your choice.”
It hadn’t been a choice at all.
I finish cleaning myself and stand, my legs still unsteady. The small mirror above the basin shows my reflection—still beautiful, even now. My hair is tangled from Grumpy’s hands, my lips puffy, my neck marked with small bruises from his lips.
I’m thirty-eight years old and I look thirty.
And I’m completely naked.
The jewels help draw the eye—the diamonds at my throat, the sapphire bracelets at my wrists, the emerald rings on my fingers and toes, the delicate gold chain around my ankle. They’ve given me so many over the past two years. They catch the light, make my pale skin glow, frame my body like a work of art.
That’s all I wear. Ever.
At first, I’d tried to cover myself. Found scraps of cloth, wrapped myself in blankets when they weren’t looking. Doc had taken them away with a firm shake of his head.
“This is your uniform,” he’d said simply. “Jewelry and nothing else. We want to see what we own.”
What they own.
I should have fought harder. Should have screamed, refused, something.
But the dwarves have money—they’re miners, after all, wealthy from diamonds and gold. They could afford to dress me in silk if they wanted, could afford to give me nothing at all.
Instead, they cover me in jewels.
They want me beautiful. Displayed. Always visible, always available.
And goddess help me, I still want to be beautiful.
I walk to the main room, where the larger mirror hangs on the wall—a gift from them, though I suspect Snow White had a hand in procuring it. It’s not as grand as my old mirror, but it’s magical enough.
I stand before it, completely bare except for the jewelry that adorns my skin. My hand smooths through my hair, and I watch myself in the mirror—breasts still full and high, waist narrow, hips curved exactly right. My skin glows in the lamplight, the jewels making me look like some pagan goddess statue.
I’m on display. Always on display.
“Mirror, mirror,” I whisper, “who’s the fairest of them all?”
The surface shimmers.
“Snow White,” it says. “Queen Snow White of Warenmarch, fairest in all the lands.”
My jaw tightens. Even here, even now, she wins.
But then the mirror adds, almost playfully: “Though you, Elara, are still the fairest piece of ass in this cottage.”