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The Wicked Stepmother	By : Ksennin Category: M through R > Once Upon A Time Views: 41904 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time nor any of the show's characters. I make no money from publishing this work.

Chapter List
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"Emma? Wake up, little one. It's time for your riding lessons."
Emma blinked, opening her eyes just not to see the pale light coming in through her blinkered windows. For a moment, she didn't know where she was—Regina's house, right? She'd gone there because—something about Scott—who was Scott?
Then the Queen was there, throwing the shutters open and letting the morning light in. "The best way to start the day is bright and early, Emma. Come, come. You've already missed breakfast. I trusted you to wake yourself up."
Now Emma remembered. She was in the palace, the ward of Queen Regina, who had promised just yesterday to finally teach her how to ride. Whoever Scott was, he must've been a dream she'd been having.
The Queen was already dressed for the day in a riding habit, exquisitely tailored as always. A sun hat started off her ensemble, black roses in the brim, with a red jacket curving around her figure and tight leather pants daringly caressing her legs. As modest as the jacket was, with an impish bow over the chemisette-covered cleavage, the trousers highlighted the very athleticism she'd be showing during their lessons. Regina never liked relying on any one of her many perfections, preferring to dazzle her court with a new one every day. It was one of many pieces of advice she'd given to Emma over the years.
The Queen presented Emma with an apple. "Eat. I know it's not much—"
"I'm not hungry!" Emma assured her. How could she be, when she was so excited? Her own horse, at last!
"We'll make up for it at lunch," the Queen promised her. "We'll have worked up a healthy appetite by then."
Emma almost wolfishly devoured her apples, the juice running down her chin and into the silk of her nightgown. Regina watched fondly as it dripped to her breasts. "You make me remember being young… with a young woman's appetites. Come, let's get you out of those rags and into something more suitable."
***
The Queen had brought Emma her own riding clothes. Not as stylish as Regina's, but practical and well-suited for a beginner. Breeches, a brief jacket, a silk shirt that felt astonishing against Emma's skin, and a jockey cap—all of it enchanted to protect Emma if she fell.
They hurried down the castle halls, Regina at her own grand pace, Emma practically straining at the leash, burning her excitement in questions. "What's my horse's name? Is it a thoroughbred? What color is he? Is it a he?"
"You'll see," the Queen promised her, pinching her cheek. "Tact, girl. We walk amongst men."
"Right." Emma matched steps with the Queen. "I am a lady, I am a lady, I am a right proper lady…"
"Ladies don’t mutter," the Queen chided gently.
Finally, they were out in the open air, walking on the tall grass outside the castle to the stables. It was a market day, with all trade suspended so families could be together and merchants could render their week's taxation to the Queen. It was so quiet, it seemed as if the castle itself were deserted, and there certainly wasn't anyone outside the walls, not with the war on.
The stables were a brisk walk, the kind of distance Emma and her Queen traveled all the time in their evening and morning strolls, but Emma felt heady this time. All the fresh air seemed to be going straight to her heart, puffing it up until it threatened to burst out her chest. Regina took her hand, as ladies do, and stroked her forearm soothingly.
"Young women's appetites," the Queen repeated. "With age, you learn to savor your pleasures. Enjoy the hunt as much as the kill."
"You're not excited? Once I learn to ride, we can race and travel wherever we want to without carriages. If we wanted, we could ride all the way to Balmore without anyone being the wiser! We could be alone all day, sipping wine like careless people!"
"You tempt me so, my little devil." The Queen sighed. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could just spend the day in each others' company, you resting your head in my lap—"
"My legs sore from a long day's ride—" Emma hinted.
"You can indulge your appetite soon. We're here."
As always when the Queen had an appointment, the stable boys had mucked out the stables and further cleansed it with magic before leaving, ensuring it smelled of roses. Each stall had been emptied, leaving only one nattering prospect…
Emma gasped aloud when she saw it. Tall, sleek, and black, yet only a pony—its dimensions making it seem slender, almost brittle. But she knew that if the Queen had picked it out for her, it would be fast as the dickens. Such a thing almost could've been one of the Queen's many beautiful ensembles: dark and stylish. Not to be underestimated.
"I love it!" Emma screamed.
"Love at first sight," the Queen mused, a finger trailing down Emma's back, between her shoulder blades to feel the pitter-patter of her heart at work. "I know what that's like. Ever since I first saw you."
Emma smiled widely, not sure how to accept the compliment—looking away at first, then meeting the Queen's eyes to show her how pleased the words had left her. After her parents had died in the war, it was pure chance that she'd wandered upon Regina as the Queen toured the devastation. Since then, Emma had lived in the palace with Regina, almost a symbol of the kingdom itself. A sign that no matter what damage the enemy rained down on them, they would survive and prosper.
"What do you want to name him?" Regina asked, giving Emma a subtle push to greet the animal.
Emma walked up to the horse, which stared at her as placidly as a newborn kitten. She reached her hand out and the horse butted its head against it, eagerly letting Emma rub its mane. "I don't know… what do you call something you just want to ride all day?"
"Graham?" the Queen submitted.
"No…"
"Yes, you're right. That's more a name for a dumb beast. Our little lady is clearly smart. To be kept protected and concealed from prying eyes, but brought out often for our enjoyment. How about… Belle?"
"Belle?" Emma nodded. "I like it!"
"So does she, I think," the Queen said, watching as Belle tossed her mane. "Well, every Belle I've ever known has been fond of beasts. Perhaps your horse equally enjoys being one."
With a little help from Regina, Emma saddled her new pet. The saddle was shiny new leather, with a monogram on the pommel. Emma noticed it as she was double-checking the straps. A stylized P. She ran her fingers over it.
"I thought you had this saddle made specially for me," she asked. "Why doesn't it have my name on it?"
"Not your name. Your title." The Queen tapped the monogram. "The nobles may not see it this way, not yet, but as far as I'm concerned, you are my Princess."
Too overcome to speak, Emma simply hugged the Queen. A moment later, she felt the Queen's gloves patting her on the back.
"Such an affectionate girl. My silly little princess. Come, let's get you saddled or they'll be no time left for riding. You can hug me as much as you want back in your room."
Emma backed off, still with a stupid grin on her face. She didn't know how she could ever repay her Queen, but she knew she'd find a way.
"Here," Regina said, casually lacing her hands together and presenting them for Emma to use as a makeshift stirrup. "Let's get you mounted."
"You don't want me to use the stirrups?" Emma asked. As close as they were—queen and princess, Emma thought—for the Queen to offer her hands for someone, a commoner really, to use as a stepping stone…
"There'll be time enough for you to use the stirrups when you've had a little more practice. For now, I don't want to take any chances. Not with royalty," the Queen teased.
Emma laughed and obeyed, like she always ended up doing. Putting her boot in Regina's hands, Emma mounted Belle with a smooth, graceful motion. She'd imagined herself doing it so many times that it was like she'd been training for it.
But she never could've imagined she'd be so high up. The ground seemed like another country. And how could a pony's back be so thick? Her knees were spread so wide that Emma worried the Queen would have a Princess whose legs were permanently open by the end of the day.
"Thank you, your highness! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"You can thank me later," the Queen said, surprising Emma by how far away she was. Along the wall of the stables, picking out a riding crop. She decided on one that was decidedly long, almost threateningly so. Walked back to Emma thumping its intimidating length into her open palm. Even that looked like it hurt. "Now, I don't want your horse taking one step until we've covered the basics."
Emma was disinclined to argue when the Queen had a virtual weapon in her hands.
First, the Queen showed her how to hold the reins, loose but not too loose. Obviously, if you pulled the reins one way, Belle turned one way, and another, another. It was like listening to one of her boorish tutors go on about arithmetic. But the Queen seemed happy with their progress. She gave Belle some sugar cubes out of the palm of her hand.
"Don't I get any sugar?" Emma asked teasingly.
"Why? Belle's doing all the work." Regina brushed her empty hands off and, for good measure, gave Belle a little kiss on the crown. Emma screwed her face up in a parody of jealousy.
"And that's almost all there is to it," Regina concluded, stepping back. "All that's left is getting used to the riding itself. The feel of it. Having such a strong-willed creature completely obedient to one's whim. It's a very pleasurable sensation, isn't it Emma?"
Emma flushed in embarrassment. Did Regina know? It meant nothing, but all the fresh air and the sunshiny day and getting to spend time with the Queen, not sharing her with boring courtiers and diplomats… plus Belle, of course, the feel of her breathing under Emma, heart pounding, blood rushing, muscles contracting. It was, well… exciting Emma. She could feel the wonderful leather of the saddle right through her riding breeches and the pommel of the saddle just fit so snugly between her legs—and her body jogging up and down with each step—it was just her body acting up, right?
She hadn't told Regina for fear she'd make Emma stop riding, but if she did, surely the Queen would tell her that was all it was, that it happened to everyone, that it had happened to her. She would get used to the feel, grow bored with the stimuli, and that would be that.
Obviously, she wanted it to end. Obviously.
"You have to make your horse trust you," Regina continued, smiling at Emma as she led Belle around by the halter, walking them in circles around the corral. "And you have to show her you're in control. Sometimes that means disciplining her. Do you think you can do that?"
"Sure," Emma said, eying the riding crop the Queen still toted. For some reason, the sight of it was making the throbbing in her crotch get better—worse! "If I have to." It was a little phallic… and the Queen was gripping it so surely…
The Queen casually ran her thumb over the handle of the crop. Emma imagined her holding a man's… manhood like that. Rubbing it like that.
Or perhaps… yes, a woman's thigh. Fingers splayed on the outer curve, thumb just touching the inside, just stroking it…
This was mortifying! She needed a distraction. "You said that's almost all there is to it. What else is there?"
"Oh, a million little things. Nothing you need to worry about now."
"I'm a fast learner," Emma said challengingly.
"You certainly are. A pity your tutors don't seem to agree."
Emma bit her lip. "I can do better."
"I trust you will. A princess should be both obedient and strong. Like the throne she sits in, giving support at the end of a long day, but also being just hard enough to foster strength, backbone. Not like a pillow, full of nothing but goose down, good only for being soft. You're not a pillow princess, are you Emma?"
Emma shook her hand fervently.
"Good. Now, the way you've been riding so far is called the sitting trot. It's fine for day-to-day riding and dressage." Dressage. Emma could've laughed. If she wanted to go to all that effort to learn to prance around, she'd join ballet. "But for hunting and jumping—" That was more like it. "There's what's called the riding trot. With each stride Belle takes, you move up and down with her, like you're breathing her air for her, rising with the inhale and lowering with the exhale. Quick, hurried breaths—like you're making passionate love."
Emma giggled, even as her sex gave a twinge. "I wouldn't know—"
"That's another lesson." The Queen brought her riding crop to Emma's thigh, moving it along the outside to her knee. "Are your feet firmly in the stirrups?"
"Yes, your highness. Very firm."
"Good girl. Push yourself up and down in the saddle. Use the stirrups."
Emma did, bouncing in the saddle. For a moment, she was worried it would be boring, more of being walked around the corral by Regina, not getting to ride at all. But then her crotch came down against the saddle. The leather was so cool, and her sex was pleasingly warm, like she'd been lying bare in the sun and its rays had caressed her to the fullest. The contrast was awe-inspiring. Like going into the cool, dank confines of the castle after a long day outside, boiling with sweat.
Her body was maddeningly sensitive, thighs and bottom conspiring with her womanhood to flood her with pleasure. Every time her body gently slapped against the hard saddle, she felt herself tremble. All over. With a lingering in her groin that carried over into the next sit, building on itself, throbbing and moistening.
On the third sit, Emma gasped.
"Are you alright?" the Queen asked. Her voice should've brought Emma back to reality, embarrassed her the way it had when Regina called on her when she was exploring herself in the bath, but not this time. Something about the Queen's voice made her feel even more safe, more free to enjoy herself. It was like she'd internalized her earlier thought about Regina having done this same thing when she was learning to ride. The image occurred to Emma, again and again. "If you're getting tired, we can stop."
"No… no… I can do this all night."
"Or all day, as the case may be." The Queen smiled graciously. "Ready for more?"
"Oh yes. Yes."
"Willing and obedient. I chose wisely." It took a moment for Emma to realize she meant the horse. "Now, push yourself back, then forward. That's posting. It frees the horse's back when you ride, so Belle really enjoys it."
So do I. Emma thought, almost laughing at her own naughtiness. And why not? The Queen would never know. It would be her little secret.
Emma sat quaking astride Belle at the conclusion of each sit, grabbing bare moments to enjoy herself. The more she did it, the better she felt, the longer she spent at the end of each sit. She kept her mouth shut, but sounds came from deep within her chest. A long, contented purr as she threw herself against the saddle and swayed, her breasts now jiggling with the force of her action. She closed her eyes so the only thing she'd experience would be what she felt—and the Queen's voice. Without the burden of sight, she could feel her own hair swishing across her face. Her sex was seeping; she hadn't known it could get that wet. Soon, the leather would be saturated.
"That's enough, Emma. Emma, that is quite enough!" Rolling her eyes, the Queen raised her riding crop and brought it down against Emma's leg.
Emma's eyes popped open. She looked at Regina, filling up with guilt, as the Queen put her hands on her hips.
"You're expected to move with the horse, Emma, while it's going at a trot. You can't just post whenever you feel like it, you have to keep it going. Now start again, and this time I want to see you going much faster. Don't get lazy."
Emma nodded, unable to speak. The sudden pain had pushed her orgasm away, but it had also made the sensation in her groin sharper and more intense. Now she felt herself heating up again, as she thrust herself up and down, as she ground herself back and forth across the saddle. She was headed for her climax even faster now. It was going to be much better than she'd thought.
"Up, down, back, forth," the Queen said approvingly, nodding with each motion Emma made. Her riding crop ticking against her palm with every repetition. "Keep going. Faster. Faster."
Belle picked up on Emma's animalistic activity. Her hooves pawed the earth, soft neighs stirring from her mouth. It just made Emma feel more primal, more of a beast. She rocked on Belle's back, overheated from her dry mouth to her flooding pussy. She felt light-headed and almost dizzy.
"Faster!" the Queen ordered, the riding crop coming down harder on her open palm. "Faster, Emma!"
"Yes ma'am!" Emma obeyed, grabbing hold of the saddle horn to keep herself roughly in place as she slid her pussy across the saddle. Her blue eyes were becoming glassy. She could barely keep them open at all.
"So how do you like riding so far?" the Queen asked, crop relentlessly keeping time. "Are you having fun?"
"Uh-huh!" Emma was squirming with each moment she spent in the saddle. It was becoming almost impossible to keep her balance, but she wouldn't dare stop for long enough to adjust herself. Her nipples alone were so hard they could almost be seen through her jacket. "So much fun!"
Belle bucked and Emma almost fell from her. She barely noticed. She held on tighter, fingers white-knuckling on the horn and legs squeezing the horse's flanks like a lover.
"I'm glad. You know how important it is to me that you're happy." Emma almost couldn't hear the Queen over the sound of the riding crop, thwacking again and again and again. It seemed more important somehow, like its sound was flying straight to her cunt.
"So fucking happy…" Emma breathed, shaking. Her hips wiggled with each little snap. Her ass clenched. The saddle was turning warm with her cream, squishing with each sit. She could hear how close she was.
"What was that?" the Queen asked. Her crop came down hard enough, it seemed, to draw blood..
"What was what?" Emma moaned, before she practically dove on the saddle horn. It struck her clit like Regina's own riding crop and she stopped being able to say anything at all.
"It sounded like you said fucking," the Queen growled, and the word sounded so goddamn good coming from her, dripping with sin and pleasure, not dirty at all. Wonderful. Being fucked, fucking someone, having a fuck.
Emma's hips moved faster, unknowingly following the rhythm of the Queen's crop like a mouse after the Pied Piper.
"Did you use that word?" the Queen persisted. Now her crop struck her hand hard enough to bruise with each use of that beautiful word. "Fuck?" Unconsciously, Emma followed suit, grinding down every time the word was spoken and the crop struck, obedient as Pavlov's dog.
"I might—I might—" Come was the rest of the sentence, but Emma wasn't speaking, she was thinking out loud. If thought were the right word for a mind on fire with want and gratification.
The Queen interpreted it as 'I might've said fuck.' Or so she was polite enough to imply. "Fuck is vulgar, common language. Do you think a princess is fucked? Do you think one fucks a queen? No. We make love. Or would you rather be fucked, hard and fast, dirty and brutish, fucked until it hurts, fucked until you're sore, fucked and fucked and fucked…"
Emma's thighs were fused to Belle's sides, her cunt wrapped around the wet leather like a vine, her clit being thrust against the saddle horn like hammer and tongs. Belle kicked at the earth as Emma's frenzy spread to her. Emma had to clamp her legs down on the saddle to keep from falling. She did it so hard that the saddle horn almost entered her, pressing her breeches inside her cunt like one massive finger.
It was like a candle setting her on fire. The flame roared in her cunt and raced up her spine and exploded behind her eyes, so bright she could see it. It hurt her eyes; her eyelids fluttered but she couldn't block it out, she could only watch as a solid wave of purple descended on her, blotting out her vision and everything else. For a moment, she was hot as a furnace, then blissful coolness. The afterglow.
"I asked you a question, Emma." The riding crop had stilled. "Do you want to get… fucked?"
She felt so wet it was like she'd sat in a puddle. Maybe that was why the fire had gone out. Belatedly, she realized that the entire crotch of her breeches was soaked. It was hidden by the saddle, not that she cared. Her orgasm had her dumb and dizzy. Knowing she was going to fall but not caring, she swayed stupidly until she slipped from the saddle into Regina's waiting arms. Then they both lost their balance and fell to the ground, Emma landing atop the Queen's warm, welcoming body…
And waking up, back in bed, no, still in bed. Emma looked around. There wasn't much to see by the soft blue moonlight that filled the room like water, but it was obvious she wasn't in a castle. She was in Regina's bedroom, having had one hell of a dream.
And Regina was gone. Emma was alone. Not even her clothes for company; at some point in the night, they'd been switched for a nightgown that was downright lingerie. Emma wondered who had undressed her as she slept, then decided that was ridiculous. She must've changed clothes just before falling asleep and just forgotten about it.
Then Emma felt a throb between her legs. She pulled the sheets back and saw, under her gown, her panties turning dark with the result of her wet dream. And she'd thought that only happened to boys. And she'd thought she wasn't even… damp. What a fucking way to find out otherwise.
Emma shivered, remembering the dream-Regina's thoughts on that word. The real Regina could never find out. Moving quickly in case Regina came back, Emma stripped off her wet… dripping panties and ran to the window, tossing them outside into the rosebushes. The perfect crime. Her nightgown was just long enough to keep her from Britneying, so long as no one looked at its translucence too closely. But then, there was no one in the house but girls.
"Regina!"
Emma pulled the window shut so hard it nearly broke. That was a voice. A woman's voice. She'd only heard it because she'd opened the window; it seemed to be coming from the other wing of the house, carried to her by a chance breeze.
It sounded like someone was in pain.
Moving to the door, uncomfortably aroused by the feel of cool air against her bare sex, Emma eased the knob around and cracked the door. There was no one in the hallway, but she heard another sound carrying. This one… sharper. Dangerous, somehow.
"Hello?" Emma called softly, not that she was sure what the point of calling out to someone was when she was whispering. Just in case there was a really polite burglar out there with really good hearing, she supposed.
She slipped out the door, her oversensitive pussy sending a twinge through her body. Fuck (Fuck, as Regina would put it), this was too much.
"Regina, please!" The voice again, the woman again. "Oh please!" It definitely sounded like she was in pain.
Gathering her courage and trying to ignore the lingering heat between her legs, Emma crept through the house, toward the woman calling Regina's name.
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The Wicked Stepmother