The death of the elf maiden would surely end the story, and a lousy end that would be. ‘Why did he mistake her for a witch?’ her mother asked. ‘...he queen was the real witch, and a very wicked one at that. She’d cast a spell on those who served her at court to see all that which was evil as good, and that which was good as evil. The huntsman, being a killer, had only looked suspicious to them. But the poor elf maiden, who never hurt a fly in her life, became the epitome of evil in the eyes of. My sisters were both 36D's now and I was sure I'd be there soon. I seldom wore a bra, worked hard to keep my pecs in good shape and had nipples that looked like the first joint of my thumb when they were excited. I looked in the mirror, grabbed my boobs, held them up and then let them go; they bobbled but looked great, the nipples distinct, the cloth stretched between them but softly clinging. I glanced at the clock. Daddy would be home soon. It was Friday, our day. I was eager to feel his. More

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