Transfixed Update - Fairest Of Them All - Part 1

The Queen—Natalie Mars—snaps her hand mirror against the marble when it tells her Snow White is the new looker of the land. Snow White! Some peasant girl! She slaps on her best disguise and heads out with murder on her mind. Snow’s in her cottage, singing off-key, dream-dancing with a mop, picturing the Prince popping by for a midnight poke. A knock. In strolls the Queen, posing as a harmless messenger bearing “a little present from His Highness.” The “present” is a sleek red corset with ribbons like candy. Snow White’s cheeks go hot—nothing screams boyfriend material like dangerously tight lace. Problem: she’s never worn one. She asks if the stranger could help with the laces. Shirt gone, skirt sliding down, each inch of skin freshly bared cranks the heat. The Queen’s fingers ghost Snow’s ribs, brush the side of each breast, tug until the corset bites in perfect hourglass. Nipples stiffen against silk; Snow stammers, wondering why she’s getting wet from what should be innocent help. The Queen’s mouth finds the spot behind Snow’s ear, slips lower, bites softly; Snow answers with a breathless moan she never knew she had. Corset gone. They’re skin to skin, tits mashed together, Queen grinding a thigh between Snow’s legs. Juice smears across the Queen’s pale skin. Her tongue works Snow’s nipples, then lower—kissing the swell, parting folds, licking long stripes up Snow’s cunt until Snow’s knees buckle. Snow’s head spins; the only Prince she remembers now has curves, dark hair, and a wicked strap-on the Queen’s been hiding beneath her cloak. She hikes Snow onto the kitchen table, lines up the glistening black dildo, and slides it home. One thrust. Two. Snow claws the Queen’s back while the corset ribbons—still tied in little bows—now dangle from a chair like war trophies. Pleasure rolls through Snow in hard, wet pulses, every clench an apology to whoever she used to moon over.