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TWISTED GOLDILOCKS
A TWISTED RETELLING OF GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS
EMILY TILTON
CHAPTER 1
Goldilocks
I always loved it when my bears told me the story of how they first found me in their cottage and made me their fuck toy. Sure, I always blushed hotter than an oven when they described how I behaved that day — before, during, and after my first gangbang — and it always got me so hot and bothered I had to beg my bears to do it again, right then… but obviously that made me love it more, as long as they didn't tell me the story just to make me plead in vain to have Papa's and Baby's hard cocks in me, and Mama's furry pussy riding my face.
They usually began the story, "Once upon a time there was a princess named Goldilocks. She was very naughty, because none of the princes who had fucked her knew how to discipline her properly."
My face always turned red, and I always said, "That wasn't her real name!"
And it wasn't — it was a stupid nickname some TV reporter had given me, right around the time I turned eighteen and started getting my reputation as the sluttiest princess my little country had ever had. I'd better start there, kind of at the beginning.
My real name is Her Royal Highness, Princess Susanna Victoria Serena Montfort Harrowworth Gosforland. I'm the granddaughter of the Crown Prince of Forthia. You've never heard of it, unless you happened to have been born there, because the young people who have the luck of being able to leave and go to the real world don't want to talk about Forthia. It's that stupid a place.
Princesses aren't allowed to leave, though. They have to stay and "keep the side up" as my grandfather always put it. He had gotten to go to school in England, at least. I didn't even get that.
I had my revenge, though. I lost my virginity right after I turned eighteen, to a tall footman with blue eyes and mouthwatering abs. The sex itself wasn't terrible, at least as far as eighteen-year-old Susanna could tell. It felt okay, at any rate, and it only hurt at the very beginning because my footman — who I slept with a total of three times, before I moved on to an equerry with brown eyes and bulging biceps — treated me very respectfully.
The equerry also treated me very respectfully. I lost interest in him after he fucked me twice.
Really, neither of them — nor any of the three other servants I banged in the following six months — could be properly said to have fucked me, though I didn't know that at the time. I only learned what it meant to have a man fuck me on my nineteenth birthday.
In my bears' cottage.
It had been a shitty day. It would have qualified for shittiness even if it hadn't also happened to be my birthday.
Princesses don't have the problem of having people forget their birthdays. The problem lies in having too many people to remind you that you're a year older and, in my case, no closer to figuring out what the fuck you're doing on the planet. I suppose my grandfather chose my birthday as the best day to call me onto the carpet, so maybe the true shittiness of the occasion actually did come from the fact that the Earth had gone around the sun precisely once since I had come of age.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Susanna?" he demanded.
When His Serenity the Crown Prince of Forthia, Malototh Henry Francois Monfort Harrowworth Gosforland, Sixteenth of His Name, called his descendants onto the carpet, he did it literally. In his library, with the shelves reaching upwards to what seemed like cathedral height, with the staircases and the rolling ladders and the secret escape doors I played in as a tiny girl, there's a gorgeous, if faded, Persian rug that sits in front of his enormous desk. I was standing on it.
The desk came from the timbers of the ship that my ancestor Malototh the First had sailed in when he had invaded Forthia in the Middle Ages. The carpet came from the royal tour my grandfather had made when he had come of age. Did princesses get royal tours? Of course not. I tried to think about that injustice as I gazed down at the reds and blues of the rug, willing my cheeks not to go red.
"They're calling you Princess Goldilocks, did you know that?" grandfather said. "That's the nicest thing they're calling you, by the way."
"Yes, sir," I said, swallowing hard. To be honest, I had done everything I could to earn this session on the carpet. I had thought, as I committed my many acts of misconduct, from the sex with the servants to the parties in the luxury suites of Forthia's swankiest hotels, that I would have no trouble facing down my grandfather when the time came. Here, actually on the proverbial and literal carpet, it felt very different from the way I had supposed.
What's the worst he can do to me? Disown me? Cut me off without a penny? In fact, that represented only what I longed for, most of the time. A free life, somewhere else. England, America, Canada. Hell, Japan. I was smart, I could learn a language other than the French my princess education had allowed.
But actually having my grandfather, who happened also to be my crown prince, yelling at me about the incredibly embarrassing nickname the press had come up with for me… it felt very different from thinking about how grateful I would be if he just threw me out of the royal family.
"And do you know why they call you that?" he asked.
Oh, no. How could my grandfather, who had been so kind to me as a little girl, have gone there.
"Look at me, Susanna," he commanded coldly.
With a lurch of my tummy, I lifted my eyes and obeyed. The tiny hope I had cherished, for a few seconds, that my grandfather had heard the G-rated version of the explanation of Princess Goldilocks rather than the X-rated one, vanished as I saw the ice in his blue eyes and the hard set of his forehead.
I bit my lip, pushing down a sob.
"Answer me, girl!" he commanded. "Do you know why? And don't give me that silly explanation they tell children when they ask why their beautiful, intelligent princess is called after a fairytale character."
