Chapter 5

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