The Snowmaiden

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A long long time ago there lived a man and a woman who were child­less. They kept try­ing and try­ing dai­ly ever since they were young, tried all sorts of med­i­cine, ka­ma­su­tra pos­es and ad­vices but the woman just wouldn't get preg­nant.

One day they de­cid­ed that if they can't have a child then they'd make a girl out of snow, but their minds were so full of lust that they lit­er­al­ly sculpt­ed no less but a fer­til­i­ty god­dess, so beau­ti­ful that the au­thor would run out of ink while writ­ing a book about her beau­ty... But the sight did on­ly make them more sad:

"Good­ness, look at those jugs, wife! If on­ly they were a re­al thing, now," the man shook his head.

"I'd be so proud if on­ly I had such a daugh­ter for re­al..." added the woman who was a les­bian-turned-straight, but still al­ways se­cret­ly ad­mired young busty girls and would al­ways cheat on her hus­band when­ev­er she got the chance with sexy far­m­girls.

Af­ter mak­ing them­selves de­pressed with the cru­el­ty of this cold world, they cried so hard that the whole for­est around them cried along, and sud­den­ly from so much sor­row a mir­a­cle hap­pened. They looked at the Snow­maid­en that they had sculpt­ed and were amazed at what they saw as her long dark eye­lash­es slow­ly part­ed...

The snowy locks on her head be­gan to grow thin­ner, form­ing many strands of white hair which en­closed her youth­ful face that in the mean­while re­fined it­self to the beau­ty lev­el of a fairy­tale's princess. Her shoul­ders round­ed and her tor­so nar­rowed to a pleas­ant lithe form. Huge breasts bounced and fell soft­ly on her slen­der chest, wide are­oli dark­ened around her large hard nip­ples. The huge ball of snow be­low her hips fell apart like an eggshell, re­leas­ing a pair of el­e­gant legs and all the love­ly de­tails in be­tween. Her full sen­su­al lips part­ed, let­ting out a lit­tle cloud of her first breath. In her per­fect nu­di­ty she stood up on her feet and looked around...

Many years passed and many things changed since the ap­pear­ance of the Snow­maid­en. Be­ing a mag­i­cal, fairy-like crea­ture she wouldn't change in her age and ap­pear­ance at all, whilst her old par­ents slow­ly aged and de­part­ed... She crossed the riv­er of the dead to fol­low them as far as she could and en­tered the dis­tant north­ern for­est where trees are al­ways cov­ered in snow and lakes in ice.

At the very heart of this north­ern for­est she built her­self a palace us­ing her mag­ic. Every wild an­i­mal that en­tered this palace would turn in­to a hu­man form: rab­bits, fox­es, cats and all oth­er an­i­mals would lose their fur, turn­ing in­to beau­ti­ful boys and girls to live and help the Snow­maid­en around the palace which be­came the cen­ter of the new realm known as the Snow Queen­dom. Their fur would mag­i­cal­ly trans­form in­to pieces of cloth­ing, and back in­to fur when­ev­er they need­ed to leave the palace.

When the Snow­maid­en her­self need­ed to go some­where, she used a big sledge car­ried by three white hors­es named Pearly, Milk and Frost, who al­so lived in her palace as three very beau­ti­ful and mus­cled young an­thro­po­morphs (bod­ies of men, heads and re­pro­duc­tive or­gans of hors­es), al­though Pearly was old­er and more mas­sive of them, while Milk and Frost were teens. All the three were her lovers as just one man was nev­er enough to heat up her lusty-busty body, but three hung, horny stal­lions would han­dle her, as well as each oth­er, just the way she liked it.

Af­ter all, she was the true daugh­ter of her par­ents, more than a nat­u­ral­ly born daugh­ter would ever be... Her body was sculpt­ed by their fish-smelling hands and her spir­it was sewed of their fetish­es and pas­sions. Her fa­ther used to have his own sta­bles as he al­ways ad­mired 'em hor­sies, as much as the mus­cled boys from the vil­lage whom he hired to take care of the gor­geous an­i­mals. From him the Snow­maid­en got her tomboy per­son­al­i­ty and the taste for hot meat.

Her beloved moth­er, as al­ready men­tioned, was quite in­clined to­ward bare­ly le­gal teen far­m­girls, al­though she was a lot more so­phis­ti­cat­ed in her de­sires than her hus­band. She had many clos­ets full of skele­tons. Be­ing rich and own­ing at least three dif­fer­ent es­tates across her moth­er­land, she kept in their cel­lars some of the un­grate­ful girls whose bones were dis­cov­ered on­ly years af­ter her death. Ribcages, skulls, hip­bones and spines, pins and nee­dles, swords and knives, every­thing was in­ter­act­ing in the most com­pli­cat­ed ways in the mor­bid sculp­turesque com­po­si­tions found in these cel­lars... Like the win­ter's night, she was de­ceiv­ing and cru­el, mer­ci­less like the sharpest ici­cle, leav­ing chaot­ic but beau­ti­ful pat­terns of frost on the glass...

As the em­bod­i­ment of the win­try for­est, the Snow­maid­en was the essence of both of her par­ents. Do­ing her best to main­tain the beau­ty of the for­est in the day, she was com­plete­ly cor­rupt by her pow­er at night, and the young fox­es, cats and lynx­es from her per­son­al harem of­ten end­ed up as parts of her beau­ti­ful—yet ex­treme­ly cru­el in na­ture—win­ter coats...

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