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Celebrity

CHAPTER ONE

In which the Queen consults her Magic Mirror, and receives a rude shock

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the Fairest One of all?” commands the Queen. She stands adorned in raiment of gold, her dark hair graced with a silver crown, her skin pale, her lips full and lustrous — her beauty glorious and, surely, unsurpassable.

“Fair art thou, O Queen,” replies the Mirror, “and thy dark hair, thy pale skin, and thy full red lips are things of great beauty. But yet, show me more, Majesty, that I might tell whether thou art truly the Fairest in the Land.” The Queen smiles knowingly, letting her robes fall gracefully to her waist, revealing her full breasts, firm and luscious as ripe melons.

“O, fair art thou, O Queen,” gasps the Mirror in delight. “Thy dark hair, thy pale skin, and thy full red lips are things of beauty; and yea, thy tits are gorgeous, suckable, fuckable marvels — surely the fairest in the Kingdom and beyond. But yet, reveal more to me, Majesty: let me see thy tight cunt, that I might say whether or not thy beauty is truly unsurpassed.”

The Queen knows this routine, and she smirks as she lets her robes drop to the floor, revealing her bald pussy, pink and glistening, its soft dangling lips shining with nectar.

The Mirror moans in pleasure. “Fair art thou, O Queen — O fuck: thy hair, thy skin, thy lips, thy huge bulging tits, and now thy tasty dripping Queenly Quim, are surely the most wondrous in the Land. Slide thy fingers into that hot cunt and taste thy Sovereign Savour, that thy Servant may revel in the glory of thy Beauteous Body.”

The Queen does so, and soon her fingers are webbed with the finest filigree of cunt-slime, which she licks off with outstretched tongue, glorying in her inimitable pungent royal sweetness. The Magic Mirror groans in pleasure: “Fuck yea, O Quimful Queen, that is truly the most Perfect Pussy in the whole Kingdom, nay, throughout the Seven Kingdoms of this Continent — guaranteed to make each man or woman swoon, prostrate himself at thy feet, and worship thy Courtly Cuntness, thy Victorious Vulva. But yet, thou hast not yet revealed to me thy Perfect Posterior which — though surely a thing of beauty, may yet — who knows? — be surpassed by someone else.”

“Ha!” The Queen laughs with derision. “Who could surpass my arse, Mirror Minion? If I have more beautiful hair, skin, lips, tits and cunt than any other in all Europe, then my arse is surely my crowning glory: curvaceous, tight, slappable, lickable, pungent and fuckable — who can improve uponthis?” She twirls round to reveal her bottom — and, yea, it is a marvel to behold.

The Mirror groans with pleasure and desire: “Oh fuck, oh yea, oh Motherfucking Miraculous Majesty, show me that hot fucking arse, squeeze it, spank it, jiggle it, twerk it. O yes, O Queen, thine is surely the most Beauteous Bottom in the Land!”

The Queen laughs triumphantly. “And so, my Lascivious Lookingglass, my Wanking Windowpane — wilt thou at last declare thy Queen the Fucking Fairest in the Land?”

“Ah — but yet, one thing remains to be investigated, O Marvellous Motherfucking Majesty, before I can declare thee Vaginally Victorious among all women. Come closer, that I may better investigate that Royal Rectum, that Chivalrous Shitter, which winketh wankily at me from between thy Basilic Buttcheeks. For it is in the Domineering Depths of thy Sovereign Stinkhole that true beauty will ever be revealed.”

The Queen shifts her bottom backwards, till her soft cheeks are pressed up against the warm surface of the Mirror, and she feels her anus winking cheekily against the glass. “O fuck, O yea, O behold, O fuck ye fuck ye,” groans the Mirror in pleasurable ecstasy. The Queen feels something soft, wet and flexible caressing her brown hole, hears the Mirror slurping and slobbering as it casts all decorum to one side and moans in anilingual ecstasy: “O shit, O fuck, O scrummy cunting arsehole, O yea, O let me eat thy fucking arse, O Queen, let me plunge my Tricksome Tongue deep in that filthy fucking shithole.”

“My Motherfucking Minion, my Butteating Bondsman,” replies the Queen, “stick thy finger in there, do! Pinky-penetrate my Paramount Pungent Posterior!”

“FUCK YEAAAA!” yells the Mirror in lustful desperation. “Feel me finger-fuck that Filthy Fundament, Majesty! Not just one, not two, but three invisible Fucking Fingers in that Regal Rectum, that thy August Anus may gape O-glorious for my pleasure!”

“FUUUUUCK!” screams the Queen in delight, as she feels her posterior penetrated by three twirling curling unseen digits. Her own hand furiously rubs her Courtly Clit, edging herself closer and closer to her climax, as she screams: “Now plunge thy prick into my Royal Rectum, make me come over thy Fucking Fenestration. Go on, Mirror, ram that Fiefly Fuckstick in and out of my cunted shithole, split me in two with thy Peasant Prick, thy Captive Cock!”

Immediately the Queen feels something huge and stiff pressing against her butthole — followed by the punch, the scrape, the squeeze of the Mirrorly Manhood filling Acıbadem Escort her up. “FUCK YEA!” she screams. “Squirt all thy cream deep in my Domineering Dirtpipe, Motherfucking Mirror. Fucking drown me in Servile Semen whilst I come all over thy Magic Manhood. And then tell me that I am the Fucking Fairest in the Land!”

The Mirror continues to mercilessly pound his prick in and out of the royal anus. “FAIR ART THOU, O FUCKING QUEEN!” he bellows in ecstasy. “Thy hair is black as ebony, thy skin as white as snow, thy lips as red as the red red rose, thy cunt as pink as hyacinth, thy arse as squeezable and fuckable as any throughout the Continent and beyond.” The Queen feels her arse pounded harder, faster, deeper, as the Mirror continues: “But yet there is one who surpasseth thee — for her arsehole is fairer than thine: its savour is sweeter, its taste more tempting, its grip tighter, its gape wider, its rim smoother, O wretched Queen, than thine own August Arsehole.”

“WHAT?!” screeches the Queen. “Who is the one whose Butthole Beauty exceeds mine? Who dares to challenge the Royal Rectum?”

“SNOOOW WHIIITE!” bellows the Mirror, as he climaxes copiously as only a Magic Mirror can. The Queen feels the Mirror’s semen spray-paint her interior, splashing wildly against her rectal walls. She feels the invisible manhood withdraw, yet continue to squirt its cream across her buttocks and up her back. Cum drips out of her arsehole, courses down her dangling cunt-lips, dribbles down her thighs, pools behind her heels, and seeps magically across the marble floor. “Snow White is now eighteen, O Queen,” pants the Mirror, “and her tight teenage arsehole is now the Fairest in the Land! Thy Buttock Beauty is supplanted, Majesty.”

“LIAR!!!” screams the Queen, wheeling round, but losing her balance in the slippery semen and falling face-first in the pool of cum, her crown tipping off her head and landing with a splash. Fuck-cream flows across the marble floor, rendering her helplessly prone, blubbing and glubbing, cum-faced and frustrated. “GUARDS! ARREST THIS MIRROR!!” she screeches. Her guards come running, but can manage nothing more than to slip and slide across the semen-coated floor, ending up in a cum-spattered jumble against the wall.

“INGRATE! TRAITOR! ASSASSIN!” screams the Queen at her once-faithful Mirror. “I AM THE FAIREST IN THE LAND! AND MY ARSEHOLE IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN!” As if to prove it, she pulls herself up onto her hands and knees, emits a long loud squelchy fart from her fucked-out anus, before slipping and collapsing again face-first on the cum-soaked marble floor.

“SNOW WHITE SHALL DIE!!!”

CHAPTER TWO

In which Snow White is saved by the Royal Huntsman

“I say, why did Her Majesty send you with me today?” asks Snow White. She is indeed fair of face, with hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, and lips red as the rose. Her dress is pastel blue, and her smile and her laughter light up the forest glade. Her voice is pinched and nasal, in the best tradition of Anna Neagle, Pathé newsreels, and the finest of royal princesses. A stream babbles through the clearing, ending in a small pond of clear blue water, still but for the occasional ripple caused by the flick of a fish tail.

The young Huntsman tries to appear unfazed by the question — but lying does not come easily to him. “She wants me to protect ye, to keep ye safe,” he says awkwardly, looking at his feet.

“You don’t say! Is that why you are carrying that huge axe?” replies the girl. (She pronounces “axe” a bit like “ex” — just as a princess should.) “To chop awff the head of anyone who threatens me?” She giggles artlessly, twirling her body, her arms outstretched so her skirt flares like a flower, her smooth face dappled by the sun shining through the leaves.

The Huntsman tries to chuckle with her. He is strong, young and handsome, captivated by the girl’s beauty, and dreading his assigned task. “By yer leave, ma’am, I’ll just go over the other side of that rise for a minute,” he blurts, “and check out the surroundings.”

“I say, shouldn’t you be staying here with me? You are supposed to be ‘protecting’ me, aren’t you?” giggles Snow White. She twirls a lock of her dark hair absent-mindedly.

“I won’t be long, yer ‘Ighness,” says the Huntsman, as he turns, frowning, and heads up a slope away from the glade.

“Toodle-pip,” calls the Princess, before giggling to herself, once the Huntsman is out of sight, “I’ll have to be jolly quick then, won’t I?” She lies down on a daffodil-strewn grassy mound and begins to sing — a sweetappoggiatura-laden soprano dominant seventh which echoes invitingly through the forest.

Her friends duly begin to gather: a flock of sparrows, a bevy of rabbits, a dray of squirrels, two young deer, a flight of sparrows — and a turtle. They form an affectionate circle around her, as she hitches up her skirt to reveal her soft thatch of pubic hair carefully trimmed into a dark triangle pointing the way to her tight pussy.

“Well, old chums, what of it, Acıbadem Escort Bayan eh?” squeaks the girl. “I am all of eighteen now, and still a virgin! Shall I prove it you?” she giggles.

The deer nod solemnly, the rabbits and squirrels gambol about, and the birds chatter and chirp as they perch on the branches of a silver birch, looking down in expectation. The turtle watches studiously, as the girl licks her fingers and begins to gently lubricate her outer lips.

“You see,” explains Snow White, “these are mylabia maiora. Sounds jolly important, doesn’t it — very High Church, don’t you think?Gratias agimus tibi propter labia maiora tua!” she intones in mock ecclesiastical tones. “Not at all difficult prising these apart: see how soft and puffy they are? That’s because I’m already feeling just a tiny bit excited! Soon they’ll be all swollen and pink!” She titters with delight, and her friends follow suit, chirping and chattering where they perch.

“But these,” continues the girl, “are mylabia minora — and that’s something quite different entirely, because inside them is hiding this little flap of skin — see?” She stretches her inner lips wide to show off her intact hymen. “I say, do you realise” — Snow White licks her fingers again, slathering a large smear of saliva across her vulva — “that is what makes me a virgin: because no one has ever fucked my pussy before — isn’t that utterly champion?!” She giggles again — and her friends follow suit. “I know that doesn’t mean an awful lot to you — I mean, you rabbits are always at it like rabbits, aren’t you?” (The rabbits look sheepish.) “But for humans, especially for royalty like me, being a virgin is terribly important! No one is permitted to penetrate this pussy until I am properly married.” (She pronounces the word rather like “merried” — as a well brought-up Princess should.) “But then,” she continues, “my husband can stick his big hard cock in there, rupture my hymen, fill me up with his hot cum, and we will all live happily ever after — isn’t that simply spiffing!” She claps her hands in self-congratulation, and her menagerie of admirers hoot and chatter in appreciation.

Just over the rise, the Huntsman is spying out the lie of the land. The sky is clear, and he can see down the other side of the hill to where the Great Forest lies, wild and untamed. In the far distance, beyond the woods, there shine the glinting marbled towers of the Great City in the Far Kingdom. “There she could be safe,” he mutters to himself. “If I let ‘er go, she could live.”

The choice is easily made. He remembers growing up a servant in the King’s household, admiring the Princess from afar. So sweet and elegant and graceful, even when her father the gracious King died and her foul stepmother became Queen. Even when all hope has been wrung out of the Kingdom, Snow White continues to exude light and life. “She must live,” resolves the young Huntsman, “for she is the only ‘ope our Land ‘as. And I could not bear to kill ‘er,” he sighs. With that, he abandons his axe on the grass of the hilltop and turns back towards the glade.

As he descends the slope, he hears the sound of singing, giggling and chattering. “Talking to herself and her forest friends, as usual,” he presumes. But as he approaches, he sees that things are not quite as usual as he imagined, for the Princess is reclining on a grassy mound, surrounded by daffodils, her long skirt hitched up to her waist, fingering her clitoris as she sings to her forest friends:

Someday my Prince will come…

before giggling, “Hee hee! ‘will come’ — get it? ‘will come’!” He laughter tinkles carillon-like though the forest.

“But,” continues the girl, “until I am merried and my husband gets to smesh my hymen to smithereens, I have to sadly make do with other forms of pleasure — isn’t that just beastly?” Her animal friends nod sagely, as the eavesdropping Huntsman’s penis begins to rise in his trousers. He can just see Snow White through the trees, and conceals himself behind a large oak to watch.

“So,” continues Snow White, “instead of sticking things in my pussy, I stroke my clit! See this little button here? If I rub it, it gets all swollen, and starts to feel jolly nice, I must say. Have a look, do!” Her friends nod again, as Snow White hawks a large gob of spit onto her clitoris and begins to rub it with a broad circular motion, until little squeaks of pleasure begin to emanate from her lips.

The Huntsman has his penis out now, and is slowly stroking it as he watches in rapt attention, thumb and two fingers of his right hand gently pulling his damp foreskin back and forth along his glans, whilst his left palm caresses his heavy testicles. “|I say,” says Snow White to her friends, “I think it looks jolly pretty when I rub my clit, don’t you? Because then one can see right into my pussy, without anything in the way. And one can watch it going all squishy and bubbly — isn’t that capital?” They chatter and chirp their approval.

“What about you, Mister Huntsman?” calls Snow White. “Don’t you think it’s jolly pretty too?!”

The Huntsman, behind Escort Acıbadem his oak, freezes in horror, and his penis goes suddenly soft in his hand. He thought himself hidden, and now frantically tries to conceal himself yet more, desperately crouching down behind a bush and wincing as a thorn grazes his penis. Snow White giggles, “Silly chap! I can see you reflected in that pond. Are you watching me stroke my pussy? Does that make your cock terribly stiff?”

Torn between lust and terror, the young Huntsman does not know how to react. Flee? But then what about the Princess, so beautiful, so lovely, whom he has decided to save? And besides, her pussy shines and beckons with irresistible glory. His shaft starts to go hard again.

“Oh, do come out of there, Mister Huntsman, there’s a good chap!” calls Snow White. “No point in hiding now, what!” Trembling, he steps out into the glade and stands before his mistress, his stiff shaft throbbing and eager, his glans glistening with pre-cum. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he mutters half-heartedly.

“Oh look!” squeals the Princess, ignoring his apologetic air. “What a big cock you have, Huntsman! Well, bigger than Father’s was at any rate. Come closer, do — let me see, spit spot!” She beckons peremptorily.

The Huntsman waddles forward, his trousers bunched around his shins, his stiff penis waggling from side to side. The Princess giggles and claps her approval, as her circle of forest friends parts to allow the young man to approach. “What is your name, Huntsman?” asks Snow White, as she continues to absent-mindedly rub her vulva, three fingers gently squelching into the wet space between her outer pussy-lips. “I remember you lurking in the background in the Palace courtyard. Your father was the King’s Chief Steward once, wasn’t he? What do they call you?”

“Callum, Yer ‘Ighness,” replies the Huntsman. His penis is still hard, and he cannot take his eyes off the girl’s pussy — glistening, soft, squidgy, pink.

Show White bursts into peals of laughter. “Callum?! You are joking, aren’t you? Please say you’re joking, ‘Callum the Cuntsman’! Are you a ‘Cuntsman’, Callum?” she teases.

Callum the Huntsman mutters indistinctly. He is shocked, humiliated, at a loss for words, yet transfixed by the sight of the Princess’s vulva glowing up at him, squelching and dripping as her fingers continue to gently massage her pussy-lips. “Yes, Yer ‘Ighness…” he nods.

“Jolly good, Callum the Cuntsman! Come and have a closer look at this cunt then, do!” But then the Princess pauses. “Oh, I see,” she muses out loud, “you’re shocked by my language — a bitinfra dig, is that it?”

Callum the Cuntsman is panting and trembling, but speechless — appalled by the behaviour of his mistress, yet entranced by her beauty. Helpless at the sight of Snow White’s glistening pink cunt, now stretched wide by her delicate fingers, its heady scent mixing with the perfume of wildflowers and heather, the Huntsman’s cock is tumescent and desperate, and he cannot help but resume stroking it with his broad palm.

“Well, I can’t say I blame you, Master Cuntsman,” continues the Princess, unperturbed. “I too was shocked when I first heard words like that, don’t you know. It was in the Palace kitchens late at night, and I overheard Annie the scullery maid talking to Sir John de Thomas, Captain of the Palace Guard. I don’t think they knew I was listening, but Annie was talking in her lovely rustic accent, saying things like, ‘Ye loike moy cunt, Johnny? Ye wanna fuck it?’ She speaks like that, you see,” explains Snow White, before giggling again with feigned innocence: “Well, I declare, I didn’t even know what a ‘cunt’ was at the time, much less how to ‘fuck’ one! So I peered round the corner, and there they were, by candlelight — she leaning back against the counter, and he plunging his cock in and out of her! (I know!) And well, it was so jolly lovely to watch, and ‘cunt’ just seemed just the perfect word for such a pretty thing. But then the girl said — in her rustic accent, naturally, so you must forgive me if I don’t get it quite right, ‘Now fuck moy arrse, Johnny, good ‘n’ ‘arrd!’ Now I didn’t know that it was even possible to fuck one’s ‘arrse’! But she turned round and leant over, and the chap did just that — imagine! And so I decided then and there that someone would do that to me someday! Isn’t that awfully jolly!?”

Callum’s heart pounds, and his cock jerks in his palm, at the sound of his Princess’s wide-eyed descent into such deliciously plebeian language. Snow White grins, and ups the ante, switching — whether deliberately or unconsciously Callum cannot tell, and does not care — into a broad West Country accent: “See, Callum, my cunt is gettin’ all juicy as I rub it. I can’t let ye fuck it — because we arren’t married, and besoides, I really ought to marry a Prince, not a ‘Cuntsman’,” she giggles. “But go on, stroke tha’ big stiff cock for me, Master Callum, while I rub my’ot fuckin’ cunt!” The Princess is rubbing the palm of one hand over and around her wet vulva now, making her fuck-lips squelch noisily at her touch, whilst the other hand pounds her clitoris. “See ‘ow moy cunt is all juicy an’ wet an’ pink? I bet ye want to fuck it, don’t you? I bet ye want to ram that ‘uge fuckin’ cock deep in moy cunt, split me aparrt with yer ‘ot rod, fill me up with yer creamy fuckin’ cum. Do ye loike ‘ow I’m speakin’ to you, Callum — tell me!”

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