textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/snow.txt

Snow White
A TNG/Mirror Universe Story by Nancy Brown
Copyright 1995

     "Mirror, mirror, on the wall ... " she whispered to herself,
staring into the reflection before her.  With half a sigh, she
traced for the thousandth time the faint scar down her face.  It
marred her, they said, made her less valuable.  That's why she had
to work longer, do more, let them do as they pleased.  She was no
longer pretty enough.  She was no longer good enough.
     She took her brush from the almost bare table and drew it
through her long, dark hair.  Hair like ebony, lips like blood,
skin as pale as snow.  The words sang meaningless songs in her
head.  She tried to remember the rest of the story.  It had been so
long, and the teller had been dead since time out of mind.  There
had been something about seven little men and a prince.  She
laughed to herself, a coarse sound unaccustomed to the room, and
the other women turned towards the noise as if to ask her what in
the hell she had to laugh about.
     Their wide eyes, dull with the usage of time, made her want to
laugh even more.  She felt the hysterical urge creep into her
again, and knew that she had to silence herself lest she take the
final step into madness.  Not that it would be long trip.
     The door opened.  It hadn't been locked, of course.  They
never locked the doors in the House.  It wasn't as though there was
some place left to go.  They didn't care if the Terrans wandered
through the House, met one another, had sex among themselves, tried
to kill themselves on broken shards of mirrors.  The Keepers could
always find them, always bring them back.  And no Terran ever left
the House alive.  It wasn't worth running anymore.  It might have
been, once, back when she still thought there was a chance ...
     The Keeper who entered the room was a Klingon woman with whom
she was familiar.  She was the one who set up all the business,
decided who was to spend the evening with whom, arranged matings
among the Terrans, and sent the ones who refused to listen to be
disciplined.  She was almost likeable, if any of them were.  At
least she made sure they were fed on time.
     The Keeper pointed to her.  "You."  She stood immediately.  No
use in making them angry.  "Your *favorite* is coming tonight. 
Keep him happy."
     "Yes, ma'am," she said, with as much humility as she could. 
The Keeper nodded, turned to another woman, gave her a partner for
the night, and left.  The Keepers never stayed long in the Terrans'
quarters, claiming that the smell drove them away.  She supposed
that she couldn't smell it anymore.
     She sat back down to the small mirror, which was her own.  Her
favorite?  That could mean one of two things, depending on the
Keeper's mood.  If she was feeling kind, her guest for the evening
would be that Klingon man that she liked.  He was gentle with her,
relatively speaking, always making sure that he left no bruises
behind him.  Most of her guests were not so thoughtful.
     This brought thoughts of whom the Keeper *might* have meant,
as well.  She shuddered deep inside, without making a motion
outwardly.  Please, don't let it be him!  The scar on her cheek
flashed pale in her reflection.  He had given her the scar two
years before, the one time she had dared to fight back, to resist
him.
     Again, her train of thought shifted, and the past crept into
her and through her.
 
 
 
     She'd worked in the mines on Betazed since her childhood,
digging for the precious minerals that the Alliance needed to
operate their killing machines.  According to her mother, her
father had been a Terran slave on the planet who'd died in an
escape attempt.  Neither of them cared much either way.  The first
thing she'd ever learned was that men came and went on the wind. 
Love meant nothing in the stifling darkness.
     She'd been twelve when her female attributes began to surface. 
An overseer at the mine had noticed one day that she had a pretty
face, and he had not ordered her to work quite as hard as the
others.  She learned quickly enough that if she smiled sweetly at
him, she did not have to go back to the slave quarters nearly as
tired.
     When he took her back to his own quarters for the first time,
she had been happy just to get away from the dirt and the dust.  He
had made her take a bath, for the first time since she'd been a
baby, and then he showed her how to pleasure him.  She hadn't been
particularly disgusted by it, although later she would wake up in
the night screaming at the memories.  He had shown her a dozen ways
to make him happy, and kept her out of the mines when she did it
right.  She was a fast learner, her emerging empathic abilities
helping her to determine what brought him the most pleasure in the
least time.
     Something had happened, she was never quite sure what, and she
had suddenly found herself in the company of a Cardassian captain. 
She had been a fine captain, one of the most respected in the
Alliance.  She'd taught her how to bring pleasure to a woman with
her tiny white hands and cherry-red mouth, and had thought enough
of her to give it back in kind.  The Captain had given her a room
in her own quarters, with a private bath and all the clothes she
could wear.  She dressed her in lace and ribbons, and brought her
out for everyone to see her pet Terran half-breed.
     She had been her favorite Keeper.  She only ever hit her when
she was drunk, and that was no more than five or six times a month.
She always made sure to apologize later, and bring her a pretty toy
as a make-up present.  She was very protective of her otherwise,
making sure that no one pawed her favorite too much.  The Captain's
pet slowly became proud of her station, of her unreachability. 
That had proved ... disastrous.
     The ship had been attacked by a rogue Ferengi cruiser.  The
Captain had been killed and her body jettisoned before she even
knew that they had been in battle.  Suddenly, she had no place to
go.  The first officer had assumed command of both the ship and
her.  That had not lasted long.  Within a month, he'd sold her to
the Keepers at the House.  She had been sixteen years old.
     She'd learned the rules of the House easily enough, not that
there were many to follow.  As long as she gave instant and total
obedience to whatever the Keepers and the guests wanted, she would
be fine.  It wasn't so hard, really.  She could sense what each
guest wanted before he or she asked.  It made her popular, and
valuable to the Keepers.  They had provided her with adequate
things to make her desirable to the guests, usually lonely military
types on a brief visit far from home.
     Another woman took her under her wing, an older woman with
short fair hair and ice blue eyes who was a favorite among the
guests.  With her guidance, she became expert at squeezing her
vaginal muscles just at the right pressure, at crying out names at
the right moment, at smiling when the guest was finished and
looking fulfilled.  Again she prospered.
     She had met him while walking through the corridors one
morning.  Her guest had already departed, and she had nothing to do
for a time.  He was a Terran male, kept for the guests who wanted
one or three or a dozen to warm their beds.  She hardly
acknowledged his existence as she passed him, merely felt the
absent wave of desire that swept through him and was gone.  She was
accustomed to that.  They did not speak.
     The next day, she passed him again, and again there was
silence between them.
     On the third day, she knew that she wanted him.  There was no
love in her for him.  She did not care if he lived or died.  She
wanted to take him down for an hour or two and show him what she
had been taught by her Keepers.  They passed without a word.
     By the fourth time she saw him, a week had passed.  She passed
him again in the corridor.  She did not know what to say or do. She
made as if to pass by him again, when he whispered her name, very
quietly.  She had only heard it herself once or twice since her
arrival, and had stopped dead.  He had told her his name, and said
that he had asked hers of another woman.  When he began to
apologize for being so forward, she stopped his words with a kiss.
     They spent every free moment together.  She still did not love
him, had loved no one since her Captain's death, but he satisfied
her body.  At night, she consoled the guests, and by day, he
consoled her.
     There had been an escape attempt.  He had not even bothered to
invite her along, and it was just as well.  They vaporized him on
the spot.  She tried not to care; the same thing had happened to
her father, and her mother had not minded.  Actually, she had not
felt a thing, about him, about her life, anything.  She stopped
feeling completely.
     When she realized that her period was late, she went to the
Keepers.  They told her she was pregnant, and she had laughed then,
the same bitter laugh that she had given just now.  She could care
less about having a baby.  She stayed working until the Keepers
forbade it, then was granted near-autonomy for the last three
months.  Something changed.  The more time she had to consider, the
more she realized that there was no other possible father for the
child but him.  She had not been with any other Terrans in too
long, and she doubted that a Cardassian or Klingon could get her
with child.  The thought should have made no difference to her; she
had not loved the father, after all, but this was different.
     She loved the baby inside of her.
     For hours, she would sit or walk and talk to the fetus,
telling fairy stories, singing songs, speaking of a hundred things
that she had learned while aboard the Captain's ship.  Her friend
had helped her with the stories, sung songs with her, had been
there to assist in the baby's birth.
     The baby was born dead, and there was nothing to be done.
     The loss had nearly killed her.  She had wanted to die, had
lain there for hours until the Keepers came and made her get up.
     Two nights later, one of the Keepers, the one in charge of
discipline, had come to her.  He had demanded her to lie down for
him.  For the first time, she had told him no.  She was still sore
from the baby's birth, both outside and inside where she could not
feel anything but emptiness.  When he had insisted, she had struck
him.  They had struggled, and he'd eventually subdued her, raped
her twice, then left a mark on her cheek to show her misdeed.  She
had crawled back to her own quarters and wished for death.
     Her friend had laughed at her when she'd seen her.  Her own
services were not being sought after as much anymore, as age slowly
gave her breasts to gravity and her skin to wrinkles.  She'd been
jealous, and had told her that the mark on her cheek would do her
good, remind her that she was nothing better than the rest of them. 
Her glee had been short-lived, though.  There had been a group of
guests not long after, seven of them who wanted to be entertained
for the evening.  They had killed her, although not intentionally,
and had paid the House well for their loss.
     She had not been able to bring herself to cry.
 
 
 
     Ten years had passed since that day, and she gave her hair one
last brushing before she went to the guest room.  She hoped deep
inside that it would be the Klingon.
     In her mind, she could already feel his warm hands stroking
her thighs, sliding gently between her legs to touch against her
ladylips, as her Captain had called that place.  He would brush the
back of his hand against her, then place tender fingers inside of
her.  He would open her delicately, like opening the first fragrant
blossom of a rose, and lightly place his hot tongue inside her
while ...
     The Cardassian Keeper smiled dangerously at her from the bed. 
Tears threatened her then, tears of rage against nothing she could
stop.  She wanted to run far away from him, from this place that
smelled of stale semen and idle years.
     "Come in, my dear," he said in that *voice* of his, silky and
softly accented and maddening.  Stiffly, she walked in and stood at
attention.  "There's no need for that.  Sit down."
     She sat on the edge of the bed, not looking into his eyes.  He
had often punished her for looking at him too directly.  Sometimes
he punished her for looking away, but not quite as frequently.  She
tried not to shudder as he ran his fingers down through her hair.
     "You are still lovely, even with that nasty scar.  It's a pity
we have to keep you with the common stock."  She wanted to scream;
his voice slid through her mind like fingers, touching and prodding
and stroking where she did not want him.  She sensed a thousand
emotions from him: lust, anticipation, even pleasure from the
discomfort he caused her.  His hand moved down her back underneath
her top, his short nails scratching against her.
     She could not contain a small wiggle, and he increased the
scratching.  The tears came closer, but she could not let them out
yet.  He withdrew his hand, and his voice became cold.
     "Get down.  You know what to do."  She nodded, almost
grateful.  This part was not nearly so bad as she'd feared.
     She knelt down before him as he slid forward on the bed. 
Without thought, in fact blocking all thoughts from her mind, she
slid her hand between his legs and opened them wide.  She found the
catch to his trousers by memory, and unfastened them enough to open
them at the top.
     She reached towards him, still not looking at his face, when
she felt a sharp sting against her hands, and heard his voice: "No,
just with your mouth."  She nodded again.  This was part of his
game.
     She dipped her head forward enough to touch her lips to his
penis.  She nipped at it gently, catching the little bumps on the 
shaft in her softest bite.  In moments, she could sense it filling
out, growing hard and ready.  He was always quick to arouse, and
usually quick to satisfy.
     She poked her tongue out to taste the head, then ran it down
the length, covering him with saliva.  She tilted her head slightly
and did it again.  By this time, it had enough blood to pop
upwards, and she ran her tongue along the bottom.
     His throat let loose a strangled sigh, and she knew that he
was ready.  She pursed her lips and placed them at the head, then,
with a swift motion, enveloped him.  Almost instantly, she tasted
his bitter lubricant, oozing from his pores, and she tried not to
gag.  With a mindless motion, she bobbed her head forward and back
with an easy motion, grazing her teeth against him as she pulled
away.  She was rewarded with a moan from him, and another emission
of juice.  He was almost there.
     Absently, suddenly trying to remember the rest of the fairy
tale that she'd heard so long ago, she began to pull at him,
sucking with the faintest of motion.  The evil queen had died, she
remembered, but what had happened to the princess?  She gave a good
pull at him, and he came, filling her mouth with vile stuff that
she'd have been more than happy to shove down his throat.  She also
knew him well enough to realize that he wouldn't withdraw until she
swallowed the wretched fluid.
     He sighed raggedly.  "That was nice, my dearest child.  Now
let's do something for you."  She considered running, hiding,
fleeing far away.  She stood, waiting.
     He smiled at her, tiny teeth showing through.  He reached
beneath the bed, to where the toys were kept, and dug through the
mess to find a sturdy rope.  She stepped back, her mind reeling in
terror. Oh no oh no oh please not that again.
     The last time he had taken out the rope, he had bound her
wrists to her ankles and had spent the entire night ramming her
anus.  She had nearly lost the use of her hands, and she had not
been able to sit comfortably for over three weeks.  She couldn't
face that again.
     "Please, sir," she whispered, trying to keep her voice
subdued, proper, "let me lick you again.  I've learned a new trick
that you'll like."
     His eyes glittered like a reptile's.  "Not tonight.  Come
here."
     Something inside snapped.  "No."
     "What did you say?" he asked, as if his ears betrayed him.
     "I said 'no.'  Not again."
     His voice grew even more silky.  "Child, I was hoping you
might say that.  You haven't been disciplined in some time.  I
think you need a refresher course in how to speak to your betters."
     His hand snapped out and seized her wrist before she could
move.  She lashed out with her other hand, wildly trying to strike
him, claw his eyes, anything.  He twisted her arm, pulling her down
to the floor, and holding her arm against her back.  She barely
kept from screaming at the pain.  He had her.
     "Now you find out what happens when you refuse me."  He slid
his hand down her back again, then pulled her shirt away.  The
tearing sound went straight to her soul.  He had torn away the last
vestiges of her pride, her self-esteem.  She had nothing left.
     She turned her face away from him to see her reflection in the
mirror on the dressing table.  Her scar stood out even more against
the wide, frightened eyes.  Her eyes.  In the mirror.  He could
take away everything, but she still had herself.
     She reached her free hand towards the mirror, entranced, while
he busied himself with getting the rope ready.  He jerked her, and
the mirror fell.  It splintered to a thousand pieces, and she
thought vaguely, idly, "There are a thousand of me, but only one of
him."
     A large piece of broken mirror cut open her leg.  She looked
down upon her own blood.  "Let her have lips as red as this blood,
and skin as pale as snow, and hair as dark as the darkest black
crow."  She touched the glass, feeling her life blood gently
pouring from her body.
     "Stupid Terran!  That will cost you another night's work." 
She turned to him and laughed.  With her free hand, she gripped the
glass shard, reveling in the bite against her palm and the slick
blood that pooled with that from her leg.
     With one fluid motion, more graceful and sublime than any she
had ever known before, she slashed the glass across his throat. 
His face registered a faint surprise, but no words came from him
other than a brief gurgle.
     She was surrounded by glass everywhere, reflecting back her
own sad face.  She remembered.  The princess had slept in a glass
box for years until Prince Charming had rescued her.  She yawned. 
Prince Charming could just go hang.  All she wanted to do now was
sleep ...
 
 
 
     The woman's body was burned like the rest of the Terran dead,
but the House sponsored a large, solemn funeral for Madred, the
best disciplinarian they'd had.
 
The End