Page 23 of Snow White and the Seven Little Miners
That made him feel a little better, for he trusted Der’s work, and the fact that they were looking out to ensure they did not hurt him. He reached up a hand to press lightly onto Hardwic’s on his shoulder. “Will the rest of you put your hands on me?” he asked, keeping the request soft and sweet.
“Of course,” Hardwic said, and there were suddenly hands resting all over him. More than six, so he assumed that some of them were using both hands. But all of them were warm, stroking and massaging and gently circling his skin, on his shoulders, chest, hips, arms, legs. Everywhere there was a warm, calloused hand, some rougher, some larger or smaller, but all of them soothing. Makellos let out a soft, contented sound. If he had not been blindfolded, he would have just closed his eyes and let the touches lull him into a sort of stupor.
A finger slid between his legs, brushing over his hole, and he did not jump this time, only took a deep breath and let it out. The finger pressed at his hole, much firmer and less flexible than a tongue, and he gasped when the slick digit pushed past the first tight ring of muscle and inside of him. It was not a small finger, and the stretch of his virgin passage around it made him whimper softly. Hands tenderly caressed his hair and his cheek. “Breathe,” came a voice from his right side that he was pretty sure was Der.
So, he did, focusing on the soothing hands all over him, letting himself relax as much as he could. While the finger was large and rough, the man attached to it was being quite gentle, he could tell, not pushing too hard but also not so lightly that he didn’t make progress in sliding the finger all the way inside of him. It made a curling motion that made his breath hitch and his hips buck upward just a bit. The hands on him stroked over his skin, lighting him up like a bonfire. Fingers stroked his hair, someone kissed his lips, someone else nibbled at his neck. The finger inside of him swirled and moved around inside of him before he felt a second fingertip at his hole, seeking entry. He let out a breath, lifting his knees a little higher, and the second finger slid in beside the first. He moaned, his eyelashes fluttering behind his blindfold.
“All right?” prompted Der.
“Yes,” Snow murmured. The fingers inside of him curled and twisted gently, sending a cavalcade of sensation through him, and he writhed under all of the touches. Even this felt so incredible, he could scarcely breathe.
Gradually a third finger, coated extra liberally with oil, slid inside of him, making him give a soft whimper of discomfort. Multiple hands and voices reassured him that he was doing so well, that he was such a good boy, to keep breathing, they weren’t going to leave him. He didn’t think he could feel as full ashe did with three fingers inside of him, but the feeling gradually faded into a pleasurable stretch, and he felt himself suddenly physically relax, the tension he didn’t know he had been holding easing away.
“There you go, good boy,” said a voice from the man between his knees. It was surprisingly gentle, because he was almost sure it was Grimwald. He became keenly aware of the other hands on him, trying to figure out who they were, and while he was not completely sure on all of them, he was sure now that Grim was the one in front of him. That made him warm all over. He had chosen randomly, but the fact that it was Grim just felt right somehow.
After another few minutes of the fingers moving inside of him, he felt a kiss on his inner thigh, and Der said, “Are you ready to try the real thing?”
Snow let out a breath and nodded. “Yes. Please.”
Grim’s fingers slid out of him, and he moaned softly at the loss of sensation. He tried to stay relaxed, made easier by all of the hands on him, and kisses that brushed over his body. He heard the slick sound of oil on skin, and then Grim was back between his knees. Something large, he assumed the head of Grim’s cock, pressed against his hole, and Snow exhaled again. The head slid in with a bit of a burn in the stretch, and Snow tensed a little. Hands petted and caressed him, lips brushed over his face, his chest, his hair. He clung to those sensations as Grim slid, slowly and smoothly, deep inside of him, deeper than anything had ever been. His eyes watered a little behind the blindfold, but he still smiled. “Oh,” he breathed. “Yes…”
It felt tight, but there was no pain as Grim’s hips began to move, slowly, rocking back and forth into him, never quite pulling out. Snow moaned, lifting his knees a little further, which helped the slide, and the angle felt even better. The head of Grim’s cock suddenly pressed against something inside of himthat sent heat spiking through his veins like a lit match, and Snow bucked up in surprise with a soft yelp. Several laughs around him soothed him. “There you go,” Grim purred, his voice still that soothing gentleness. “That’s a good boy, Snow. Just relax and let Daddy make you feel so good.”
The movements that followed that left Snow gasping for breath. He caught the hand of one of the men and held it tight, the other hands still stroking his skin and raining kisses upon him. Fingers pinched at his pink nipples, rolling and flicking them back and forth. A slick hand grabbed his cock and began to stroke in time with the thrusts from Grim’s hips, and Snow knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He let out a sound that was half nonsense pleading, half a sob, as his back arched up, heat flooding his body as spilled himself over the stroking hands. The stimulation continued as Grim thrust several more times between his legs into his tight heat before he ground against Snow with a soft shout of pleasure. Snow could vaguely hear sounds around him, sounds of kisses and stroking, and someone let out a gasping grunt. He realized that the little miners were not only pleasuring him, but also either themselves or others, and his heart gave a little leap of happiness. He wanted everyone to feel pleasure like he did, and the fact that they were brought to fulfillment from watching him sent another thrill through his body.
Grim on top of him was heavy and comforting, sinewy muscles under warm skin, each brush of which made him tingle all over. Still with only darkness for vison, Snow panted for a few moments before he began to relax again, settling down into the mattress, under the many hands that rested on him now.
He realized as his mind slowly drifted back down to earth that he had started to cry. The blindfold, wet with tears, was carefully pulled off his head and away from his hair, soothing hands stroking his cheeks. He squinted his eyes open to see sevenconcerned faces gazing back at him. “Are you all right, Snow?” asked Hardwic, clutching his hand and giving the back of it a kiss.
“Did I hurt you?” Grimwald asked worried, stroking a large hand up Snow’s thigh.
“What can we do?” asked Sigurd.
Snow panted softly as his body relaxed into what he thought melting butter must feel like. “I’m all right. It was wonderful,” he said, his sky-blue eyes flicking from one man to the next. “It was perfect, and I am so glad I was able to share it with all of you.”
“We are too,” said Der, stroking his cheek lightly. “Thank you for giving us this honor.”
Snow chuckled softly as the little men all settled around him on the bed, still holding his hands, stroking his hair, touching his chest and legs to connect them all with him at the center. “I am the one who is honored,” he said. “I have found in you the most amazing, strong men who have endured so much. My true friends, my dear lovers, each and every one of you. No man has ever been as lucky as I.”
There were several soft sighs of pleasure, pink blushes, and various happy smiles around when Dagobert suddenly spoke up. “We love you, Snow.” All heads turned to look at Dagobert in surprise before they then turned to the prince beneath them.
Snow took each of their hands and placed them on his chest, just above his heart, then rested his own over top of them. “And I love all of you. With every beat of my heart.”
Thirteen
The nights were growing colder, but the little cottage was full of laughter and warmth. In the morning, Snow kissed each of the men goodbye before they headed off to the mines to work. There was still much to be done around the cottage. Bernhardt taught him how to sew; he used to help make and maintain the costumes for his acting troupe. They spent the afternoon in front of the fire, patching holes in warm clothing that would be needed for winter as Bernhardt recounted many a tale of his travels throughout the lands. He had traveled much farther than anyone Snow had ever known, and his eyes took on a faraway look when he reminisced about those days.
“I know you were an actor, and Der was an apothecary,” Snow said thoughtfully. “Sigurd and Sigmund were carpenters. Was Grimwald a woodcutter by trade?”
“Indeed, he was,” said Bernhardt.
“And Dagobert was just a child when he was taken to the mines. What about Hardwic?”
“What about him?” Bernhardt asked, his eyes on his stitches.
“What did he do for work? I know he had a wife and daughter, but that is all that he has said about his past.”
Bernhardt chuckled softly. “Well, to be honest, none of us are entirely sure what he used to do. He’s never told us.”
