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

Callum the Huntsman sits by his hearth, brooding. Through his cabin window, in the distance, the gilded towers and turrets of the Royal Palace rise gleaming, their flags fluttering in the warm spring breeze. From the stone walls and oak rafters of his cabin hang the tools of his trade: bows and arrows, axes and knives, skins and heads of deer and rabbits. Callum broods. And the object of his contemplation is Snow White. S...

Snow White walks swiftly, escorted through the Forest by her animal friends. Tears run down her face now, as she ponders the horror of her situation. “My life in danger! Oh, how utterly awful! So, to the Far Kingdom must I escape. But then what? And who will take care of me now?” She walks, and as she walks her friends bring her sustenance – berries and nuts and wild fruits – and guide her to springs of cool water where s...

“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, Hello Children Everywhere – and the finest of royal princesses. A stream babbles thr...

“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 m...

The sun has barely risen this wintry Sunday morning, and fog swirls across the path and canal outside the front door of Claire’s Cunt Kitchen. “Brad, shut the blinds, will you?” calls Claire from deep within the bowels of her kitchen. “And turn the screen on, it’s nearly nine!” Bradley is wiping tables in the front room of the café, scrubbing the last of yesterday’s semen stains off the pink Formica tops. Jill has arrived...

This two-part “Christmas special” follows on from the conclusion of Alison Goes to London – but it can also stand alone. It is 2051, and under the “Enlightenment”, Europe is ruled by Pleasure, and love is eschewed. Claire and Bradley have graduated from the Royal Academy of Fucking and, assisted by their friend, up-and-coming anal slut Riley, have set up a fuck-café in Cuntden Market. However, their best friend Alison has...

Soeliram, Anak manis djanganlah ditjioem; Kalaoe ditjioem merahlah pipinja. “Sweet child, let her not be kissed,” she sings in her native tongue, “or ruddy will her cheeks turn: soeliram…” Her voice tinkles and her spirit soars, as the bundle in her arms latches onto her full brown breast. The child’s eyes are wide and sincere, sparkling like burnished bronze under candlelight, as mother and baby commune through song and...

  “Alamak! So sexy what!” grins Aini, eyes squinting against the tropical afternoon light as she looks up from the pool. Her bathing costume is a modest maroon one-piece affair, melding into the rich dark skin of her short round body, carefully conserving her full breasts from view. Her friend Heidi grins in reply, pulling off her towel and giving her tight buttocks a brief twerk, as if to prove a point. She wears a brigh...

  Earth date 1st April, 2121. Time 12h03m56s GMT. Space Station Alpha 69. Geostationary above Mars. Unmanned. Nothing to report. All systems functioning. *** Earth date 2nd April, 2121. Time 15h05m23s GMT. Space Station Alpha 69. Geostationary above Mars. Unmanned. Nothing to report. All systems functioning. *** Earth date 3rd April, 2121. Time 10h23m19s GMT. Space Station Alpha 69. Geostationary above Mars. Unmanned. Not...

  It was three in the morning before Detective Inspector Jane McCann crawled into her bed. Exhausted though she was, she could not sleep, for now, there were two dead bodies haunting her: one a brown-haired phone-sex-purveying jilted Catholic wife on a church altar in Surrey, another a bleached-blond Sheffield prostitute lying on her filthy cot surrounded by soiled condoms and used syringes; both of them with their legs w...

  Victoria Berry had wonderful curves. She was blessed with large round natural breasts, each graced with a wide, perfectly pink areola and a puffy dome-shaped nipple. Her bottom was also gloriously curved: her full buttocks swayed gently as she walked, inviting the attraction of all who spied her. Her face too was round – not pudgy, but naturally broad, with cheeks whose roundness echoed that of her breasts and buttocks....

  I’m a scientist, you know. Actually, I’m a doctor. I fix people. And I know how. So I don’t believe in miracles or the paranormal. Generally speaking, things happen for a reason, according to relatively predictable principles. My job is to learn what those principles are and to work with them. My name’s Lucy, and my specialism is sex. Sounds fun, you think? Yes, it is – but perhaps not always the way you might expect. I...

  “Oh yeah, cunt!” he muttered under his breath. “Yeah, hot fucking cunt!” he continued, ogling the juicy specimen of beauty displaying herself to his lustful eyes. Her pussy was indeed beautiful – pink and delicate, with a finely-crafted blond landing-strip, held open by a pair of painted fingers, so that he could gaze into its hot, wet, steamy depths. He stroked his cock in anticipation, feeling his shaft stiffen and gr...

“Say thou right if see thou canst, and tell it truthfully ere tumult come: When, if ever, Wand-Bearer, shall my love my lay embrace?”   “Have patience, warrior wild and smitten, for love lives by its own lilt. The time will come, and come it will, when to thee she will yield her yearning.”   “Say thou right and say it quick, ere tumult trip me into tempest: seeress, might her heart melt and take my tribute tonight?”   “Be...