Fairness, Snow White said, was always such an important thing. And she only had two hands and one mouth, one ass and one cunt, and even all together that was not enough for seven of them. They are used to taking turns, they reply, but she says that she does not want them to.
Between them, they have enough hands. The wetness of her tongue comes to each from time to time, or the stroke of her palms -- small and gentle, but not soft, not with the work that she did -- or another smooth touch of her skin. And in turns they would kiss her ruby lips, squeeze her slight breasts, run their hands between her thighs and slip their fingers into her virgin-tight cunt.
She knows each of their pricks with her fingers and tongue, could tell them apart even in the dark, never mind by the warm light of the fire. And they know her too, each inch of her soft young body, and they revere it.
One by one they spend across her skin, hot streaks like a drawn-out kiss. It lingers, and she holds them to her, white on her white skin shining in the firelight. This, she promises them, explains to them, is better than anything else that they could do for her; in this, she can see them against her, all at once and all together, and as each of them comes she licks and sucks them clean.
This is fairness, she tells them, and this is how they know that she is theirs and they are hers, and later they will lovingly wash her clean and plant kisses on her curves. But for now this is how she takes them to her, in their own little world, as she lies sprawled across the floor arrayed in all their pleasure.
Between them, they have enough hands. The wetness of her tongue comes to each from time to time, or the stroke of her palms -- small and gentle, but not soft, not with the work that she did -- or another smooth touch of her skin. And in turns they would kiss her ruby lips, squeeze her slight breasts, run their hands between her thighs and slip their fingers into her virgin-tight cunt.
She knows each of their pricks with her fingers and tongue, could tell them apart even in the dark, never mind by the warm light of the fire. And they know her too, each inch of her soft young body, and they revere it.
One by one they spend across her skin, hot streaks like a drawn-out kiss. It lingers, and she holds them to her, white on her white skin shining in the firelight. This, she promises them, explains to them, is better than anything else that they could do for her; in this, she can see them against her, all at once and all together, and as each of them comes she licks and sucks them clean.
This is fairness, she tells them, and this is how they know that she is theirs and they are hers, and later they will lovingly wash her clean and plant kisses on her curves. But for now this is how she takes them to her, in their own little world, as she lies sprawled across the floor arrayed in all their pleasure.
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