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Writing exercise 8: fairy tales

from Snow White and the Seven Dildos, or, The Princess and the Cuntsman:

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!!!"
 
not a fairy-tale but still faë, and fuck you if you disapprove :kiss:

Scenes from the commute
---------------------------

I'm watching the reflection of the girl two rows down. She's listening to music, I think, her honey-gold eyes slitted against the faint rays of dying sunset. The wheels of the carriage kiss the rails softly; cold autumn drizzle beads the outside glass. Ghostly trees flash by in the gloom.

The girl's reflection yawns and shoots me a glance, then averts her gaze. The girl herself listens to her music, oblivious as her shadow-self stretches its arms.

Shadow-she yawns again, then smiles.

A flicker of moment; I am strangely unperturbed as I watch Shadow-me shift nervously on her seat. Shadow-she pulls her headphones off, leaving them hanging scruffily around her neck, mussing the white-gold glory of her tresses. She lifts a hand and beckons.

Shadow-me rocks forward, then stands, and saunters two rows down. Shadow-she looks up at Shadow-me and says something softly, lips curling upwards into a smile.

Shadow-me is shy - laughing - but Shadow-she is not. She catches Shadow-me's hand and pulls Shadow-me down beside her. Shadow-me and Shadow-she both watch me for a moment, then turn back to one-another.

Their first kiss is breathtaking.

The blonde girl is watching all this with wide eyes. Her pink lips part, showing the cutest hint of tooth and tongue. She's blushing now - rose-pink highlights on those pale, perfect cheeks.

She blesses me with an incredulous glance before, almost unwillingly, she turns back to the tableau.

Shadow-she has her hands up under Shadow-me's top; Shadow-me is grinding on Shadow-she. I feel an echoing ache deep in me. I bite my lip; the blonde girl covers her mouth but cannot quite hide the smile nor the delight in her eyes.

Shadow-she and Shadow-me are entwined; I see frantic hands moving under skirts, my shadow-self is flushed and I can see the shivers that are a prophecy of her... my... coming climax.

Shadow-she arches, exultant, ribs heaving as Shadow-me writhes against her, and Shadow-me convulses in her arms.

It's over in a moment.

They kiss, and part ways, and return to their places.

I blink, and the mirror world is gone.

The blonde is staring at me.

She licks her lips.

I watch in something approaching terror as she stands, and walks the slow steps towards me.

A man glances up from his book, then returns to it.

She sits down beside me.

Her leg is deliciously warm against mine.

I take a shivery little gasp of air.

She fumbles for my hand.

Our first kiss is breathtaking.
 
Well here is modern... It's the start of something with magic, if not fairies. After the 'Demon under the bed' led to a published story perhaps this will be lucky too.
---
If I had to summarise my story, I would say like, 'Beauty and the Beast'. You know the one. The girl meets the fearsome beast, who loves her, and gradually decides that the beast isn't so fearsome after all. Then she saves him and he turns into a prince. My story isn't the same though. Beauty and the Beast ends at the happy agreement and full of joy. My story ends with the girl becoming a monster too. She loves him and tried to help him. He loves her and is still the unchanged beast.

I met the Ruler of the World in a surprising way. Well, I think that's when I met him for the first time.

I’d visited the café down the side alley a few times before anything struck me. The alley was a couple of turns away from where I had most lectures, and the place was not expensive. So I had my black coffee, with a croissant too, after morning lectures. It seemed a normal place, cheap, good service, and always quiet. I was sitting at a table by myself, laptop out and tapping away, when I noticed the waitress. She was dressed formally like an old fashioned French-maid, with a short skirt and even a little tipped hat. She stood at attention, her fearful gaze on the man one table over.

He raised his eyes and caught me looking. The smile on his face was slow and lazy. I felt as if I was looking at a big cat. I glanced at the door before I could help myself then back at him. His smiled widened. He’d seen me and knew I was worried.

"Why don't you come over here."
 
StillStunned said:
We need more modern-day fairy tales anyway.
Click to expand...

OK:

Jack and the Bean Stalk

I had just parked my car and was walking from the lot to my office, carrying a briefcase, when a funny-looking guy with a cow and a canvas bag stepped into the street and nearly got run over by a Prius. The near collision caused the funny-looking guy to slip and fall, and the bag fell to the ground. Hundreds of strange green beans spilled out into the street. Immediately, one sprouted, and a massive, twisting, green stalk soared from the asphalt into the air.

"Well, fuck me," I said.

The funny-looking guy turned to me and asked my name. "Jack," I said.

"Jack, are you going to climb the beanstalk?" he asked.

"Do I look like an idiot?" I replied. "Why would I do that?"

"There's a princess on a cloud at the top, and she needs to be saved from an evil giant."

I drew closer to the guy to detect if there was booze on his breath.

"Buddy, I don't need princesses. My last girlfriend was a princess. Seemed like she wanted jewelry with every date. I don't need that kind of grief. No thanks."

"But this princess is gorgeous, rich, she craves sex . . . and she's always naked."

"All right," I said. "I'm in."

So I climbed the beanstalk, which wasn't easy in my Oxfords and carrying a briefcase, but what the hell. It wasn't the usual day in the office.

I got to the top of the beanstalk, and stepped onto a cloud, which was kind of weird, and, sure enough, a beautiful blonde, naked as the sky was blue, ran to me and put her arms around me. "Save me!" she cried.

Her breasts pressed against my chest. "I could get used to this," I thought.

Then the "giant" appeared, and the funny-looking guy wasn't wrong: he was big. But he looked slow and clumsy and not too bright. I waved my brief case and said, "Hey bud, I've got gold in this case."

The giant bought it and lunged as I backed up to the edge of the cloud. I put a leg out and tripped the big oaf, and away he went, falling out of the cloud. A minute later he hit the ground with a boom and a technicolor splat.

The naked princess kissed me on the mouth. She pointed to a castle in the distance. "Thank you, brave prince!" she cried. "Now you can take me there and ravish me and we can live there to the end of our days!"

I thought about it, and I had to admit it sounded better than my day job. I threw my brief case off the cloud and escorted the princess to the castle, and we lived happily ever after.
 
The house at the end of the close was the Witches’ House. The two ladies who lived there were different, everyone knew that. Precisely what made them different was less certain, but even so.

Their differentness radiated from them whenever they walked down the close to the main street, and whenever they sat on a bench in the Common, feeding the ducks, and whenever they were in their garden, pruning the rosebush or tying back the wisteria.

They rarely spoke, or even smiled. Once, Tommy had stopped on his bike outside the Witches’ House, ready to show he wasn’t afraid by calling them witches. The taller one had turned to him, looked for a moment, then opened her mouth in a wide grin.

It wasn’t a smile. Tommy had dropped his bike and ran.

Then one day, years later, the cat got out and ran into their garden. I was still living with Mum and Dad, but they were away for the week and the cat was my responsibility. So I had to go and get it.

It was one of those early spring evenings, when it was already dark but the air held a hint of warmth. The hedge was still bare from winter, and I squeezed in, trying to be as quiet as I could, trying to stop my nerves from screaming at me.

It was silly, of course. I was nearly twenty, and I didn’t believe in witches. Of course not! These were just two strange, quiet ladies who liked to mind their own business. There was nothing for me to be afraid of.

So I peered round the garden, looking for a small feline shape, hoping it was close by. I finally spotted her, on the windowsill.

My heart sank. I’d have to go over there. The light was on inside, and I could see someone moving around.

“Cat!” I hissed, but she didn’t listen.

I made myself step forward, telling myself again that there was nothing to worry about. The cat looked up as I approached on tiptoes, and rose to her feet, tail up in the air, a self-satisfied purr coming from deep within.

Quickly I reached out and grabbed her, praying that she wouldn’t make any more noise. She came quietly enough, and I was about to turn away when suddenly a face appeared before me.

It was the taller one of the pair, and as her eyes locked on mine I realised that in all those years she hadn’t aged a single day.
 
StillStunned said:
The house at the end of the close was the Witches’ House. The two ladies who lived there were different, everyone knew that. Precisely what made them different was less certain, but even so.

Their differentness radiated from them whenever they walked down the close to the main street, and whenever they sat on a bench in the Common, feeding the ducks, and whenever they were in their garden, pruning the rosebush or tying back the wisteria.

They rarely spoke, or even smiled. Once, Tommy had stopped on his bike outside the Witches’ House, ready to show he wasn’t afraid by calling them witches. The taller one had turned to him, looked for a moment, then opened her mouth in a wide grin.

It wasn’t a smile. Tommy had dropped his bike and ran.

Then one day, years later, the cat got out and ran into their garden. I was still living with Mum and Dad, but they were away for the week and the cat was my responsibility. So I had to go and get it.

It was one of those early spring evenings, when it was already dark but the air held a hint of warmth. The hedge was still bare from winter, and I squeezed in, trying to be as quiet as I could, trying to stop my nerves from screaming at me.

It was silly, of course. I was nearly twenty, and I didn’t believe in witches. Of course not! These were just two strange, quiet ladies who liked to mind their own business. There was nothing for me to be afraid of.

So I peered round the garden, looking for a small feline shape, hoping it was close by. I finally spotted her, on the windowsill.

My heart sank. I’d have to go over there. The light was on inside, and I could see someone moving around.

“Cat!” I hissed, but she didn’t listen.

I made myself step forward, telling myself again that there was nothing to worry about. The cat looked up as I approached on tiptoes, and rose to her feet, tail up in the air, a self-satisfied purr coming from deep within.

Quickly I reached out and grabbed her, praying that she wouldn’t make any more noise. She came quietly enough, and I was about to turn away when suddenly a face appeared before me.

It was the taller one of the pair, and as her eyes locked on mine I realised that in all those years she hadn’t aged a single day.
Click to expand...
You cannot, cannot leave this unfinished. I will not permit it. I WILL HAUNT YOUR SOCKS.
 
SimonDoom said:
Jack and the Bean Stalk
Click to expand...
I just had a thought: Jack and the Beanstalk is basically a "son cucks his father" story, isn't it? I mean, the beanstalk is his "changing body", to put it delicately. The giant is his father: a big, booming voice from high up, hidden by a cloud/beard. Jack has to grow up as a man and break free from his father's dominance.
 
StillStunned said:
I just had a thought: Jack and the Beanstalk is basically a "son cucks his father" story, isn't it? I mean, the beanstalk is his "changing body", to put it delicately. The giant is his father: a big, booming voice from high up, hidden by a cloud/beard. Jack has to grow up as a man and break free from his father's dominance.
Click to expand...

You are seriously messed up, StillStunned. But you gave me a great new story idea: Beanstalk in the Backseat With Mom.
 
The Princess and the Ogle

Once upon a time, on the edge of the Forest, there stood a tower, tall and strong. Inside that tower lived a Princess, alone but for an elderly couple who looked after her as she grew up.

And grow up she did, from a pretty girl into a beautiful woman with silken hair and smooth, soft skin. Yet there none to praise her beauty, except for the elderly couple, and as a young woman she was as sweet and kind as she had been as a little girl.

One day in spring she left the tower to walk in the early sunshine. The sky overhead was clear and blue, the forest was green with life, and the birds sang their songs to greet her as she walked.

Coming at length to a pond in a glade in the Forest, she saw the sunlight stroking the water. So tempting was it that she pulled off her dress, took off her shoes and stepped into the pond.

Warmed by the sun, the water was pleasant on her skin, and she dove under the surface. Emerging a few moments later in the middle of the pond, she laughed for pleasure as she wiped the water from her face and looked around.

Something caught her eye. On the bank, lurking behind a tree, stood a shape. It looked like a man, but it was nothing like the old man who cared for the Princess. Taller, but hunched over, and naked but for a cloth wrapped around its loins.

“Who is there?” the Princess called.

The tall figure seemed to hesitate, then stepped into the open. The Princess gasped when she saw the face: a low forehead ended in thick brows over deep-set eyes. The mouth was spread in a leer, tongue running over fleshy lips.

The hunched body was large, arms and legs knotted with muscle. A large hairy hand was rubbing at its loins, where the Princess noticed a large bulge that seemed to writhe beneath the material.

The Princess was intrigued. “What are you?” she asked, rising out of the water. Drops sparkled like diamonds on her skin.

“An Ogle,” the stranger replied, eyes running over her body like a tongue. “And I’m going to eat you.”
 
Rapunzel

The King was a strong, powerful ruler, and he was content with his life. Only one thing troubled him: his daughter, Rapunzel. She was beautiful--the most beautiful young woman in all the land. And she had only recently entered adulthood.

The King knew as a practical matter that it would be necessary to marry her off, but he was jealous of his daughter, and it seemed to him that none of the young princes and lords that were constantly sniffing around the castle were good enough for her. It bothered him that Rapunzel, whose lust for life equaled her beauty, moved so freely about the castle and the grounds. He was sure with all the horny princes no good would come of it.

He decided to move her to a room high in a tower on the edge of the castle. He forbade her from ever leaving the room except under heavy supervision.

She threw a tantrum, of course. "You can't do this to me!" she wailed. "I'm a princess!"

"You think you can always get what you want?" the King asked.

"Pretty much. Yes," she replied, while pouting.

"No longer, missy," the King said.

So Rapunzel was locked away in her room. The King visited her often during the day. For a while she was sullen and quiet. He often found her sitting at the open window of her room, which was so high that it gave a nice view of the kingdom.

After a while, however, Rapunzel's mood improved. The King also noticed that her hair grew at an astonishing rate. He didn't know why.

Another month later, Rapunzel seemed as happy as ever. When she came down from her room for breakfast one morning, the King noticed that she seemed tired, but happy, and her cheeks were flushed. She stared dreamily at the ceiling all morning, seemingly lost in happy thoughts.

The King grew suspicious.

One night, long after Rapunzel had gone to bed, the King crept up the stairs and put his ear to Rapunzel's door. He heard a steady squeaking, and moans coming from inside.

Outraged, the King threw the door open. There, sure enough, lay his daughter and a prince he was vaguely familiar with, naked as jaybirds, going at it together on the bed.

"I'll kill you!" The King cried, drawing his sword.

The prince sprang out of bed and appeared to jump out the window. Then the King understood: he was climbing down Rapunzel's hair, which hung from Rapunzel's head to and out the window.

The King ran past his naked daughter to the window, saw the prince climbing down the long tress of hair, and swung his sword.

It cut through the hair. The prince screamed once, fell, and hit the ground with a bang. He was surely dead, the King noticed with satisfaction. He turned to his daughter.

"Well, that sucks," she said.

"You shall have no princes any more," the King said.

Rapunzel pulled out a cigarette. She walked toward the King, still naked.

"That can mean only one thing," she said, putting her arms around the King's shoulders. Her nipples grazed his chest.

"What? What?" he asked in confusion, ashamed of the swell of desire that rose in his breast at the sight of his naked daughter.

"It's just you and me now, Dad," she said. "And I always get what I want."
 
yowser said:
Very clever, although way over the limit (you should be ashamed of yourself.)

Others may be aware of the works of @Elaine_Mature, who has done some most entertaining fairy tale riffs, and of course this reminded me of her RumpleForeskin story. Here is her whole series of warped fairy tales.
Click to expand...

I realized what I was doing and would be ashamed if I had a greater capacity for shame, but it seems to be lacking.
 
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