The Snow Queen Gets Lonely - Sex Stories

The Snow Queen Gets Lonely

... her feet, her muscles protesting the movement. She grasped the fractured icy pillar to steady herself, its glossy surface now marred by cracks and fissures.

Catching her reflection in its uneven surface, she took in her disheveled appearance. Her long platinum hair fell in wild disarray around her bare shoulders, the neat braid long since unraveled. Strands stuck to the damp skin of her neck and breasts, the pale locks contrasting with her flushed complexion. She was utterly disheveled, her body covered in a sheen of sweat, snow, and her own arousal that had yet to freeze in the frigid air. Rivulets ran down her breasts and inner thighs, glistening trails mapping the path of her pleasure.

Turning, she glanced back and saw her once porcelain-smooth backside was now ruined—streaks of fiery red marked where she had relentlessly slammed against unforgiving ice. Dark bruises were already blooming under the delicate skin. Gingerly, she touched her sore flesh, inhaling sharply at the spike of pain. Yet even the discomfort sent a delicious tingle through her core. She would wear these marks proudly, a testament to the long-awaited fulfillment she had found in her union with her icy lover.

Her lover!

She spun around to look at her sculpture, expecting it to be nothing more than a ruined pile of ice and powder. Yet to her amazement, her icy creation remained untouched, standing tall amidst the wreckage, not a single chip or crack marring his flawless frozen form.

Freya ...

... retrieved her discarded gown off the floor and shook off the snow from it. It glittered as she slipped it on, the crystalline fabric cool against her heated skin. Then, on trembling legs, she slowly approached the sculpture of her lover, the snow crunching softly beneath her bare feet.

The snow had collected on his broad shoulders and in the crags of his muscular torso. Freya reached up with a pale hand to brush it away, her fingers lingering on his icy skin.

Then, looking down, she gasped in surprise. His icy appendage, the source of her pleasure, now resembled a tree branch after a winter storm, his mighty limb glazed in a smooth layer of delicate ice, sparkling in the morning sun. She reached out a slender finger, tentatively tracing along the length of his frozen manhood, and blushed as she realized her own heated juices, chilled by the frigid throne room air, must have frozen to his member, encasing it in frozen droplets of her arousal.

It was as if their coupling had imprinted itself onto him in this icy remnant. A renewed flush of embarrassment and desire coursed through Freya as she appreciated her handiwork. She had well and truly claimed this icy effigy as her own. He had fulfilled his purpose, satisfying her beyond her wildest imaginings.

She looked back up at his face. Despite being carved from ice, he seemed to wear a knowing smirk on his face. It was as if he was fully aware of the pleasure he had just provided, and the satisfaction that Freya felt. ...