Snowbound

Please vote and comment - this is a submission for the Winter Holidays Contest 2018. Your feedback is greatly appreciated.

This tale is inspired by the Russian story of the Snow Maiden, recorded by Afanasyev, and Leger, and Lang, among others.

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"Again, Masha!" Akem's voice was harsh with mingled desire and contempt as he bent his wife over the side of their bed and plunged his cock into her to the hilt, his glans pounding at the door of her cervix, eager for the seed he left in her every day to take root. He blamed her for their childlessness, and he punished, pummeled, pumped her so full of his seed that it ran in cloudy rivulets down her white thighs.

Today, the first time he took her, she was bone dry, a desert he fucked fertile as he pounded her beautiful breasts into the mattress. When she protested that they'd be less likely to make a child with her that dry, he slapped her ass an angry red, saying that perhaps she would absorb his cum like a dry sponge. He could not see the tears falling from her blue eyes.

But now, now she was wet, her heart-shaped ass stinging from his slaps as he held her face to the bed, shoving her rosy full lips and delicate features to the rough wool of the coverlet. Finally he exploded in her again, grunting his pleasure, and fell in a sweaty mass beside her on the bed.

"Leave me," he growled. He did not mean to be coarse or harsh; his obsession with fathering a child had overtaken his affection for her, as well as any concern for her comfort or pleasure. There were still moments; moments of tenderness or playfulness that overtook him and gave them both, for a few minutes, peace and joy.

The smell of borscht filled the house, and Akem came out of the bedroom to see bowls of blood-red stew before their two plates. Masha, though, was nowhere in sight. He opened the front door to find her bent over in the snow.

"Dorogaya," he called, "darling, what are you doing? The wolves will find you, and then where will I be?"

"My husband," she said, her voice strained, "As I served our dinner, I burned myself on the pot - I am only here a moment to cool my hand in the snow." With that, she put on a smile, and lobbed a quick handful of snow at him, in hopes of finding his humor again. And find it, she did They spent several minutes of laughter before Akem, chasing her, tumbled by her side in the freshly-fallen snow.

"You still enchant me, my darling," he crooned, brushing snow-sodden hair from her forehead to kiss it, "and you always will."

Masha's eyes brightened, "Akem! Akem, let's make a snowman, like when we were children! Can we?"

Akem laughed, "Okay, but better make it a snow child, yes?"

Masha's smile faded and she turned her head to hide her quivering lips, but returned with a snowball the right size for a baby's head. Akem soon fashioned a tiny body, and they made delicate arms and legs ending in impossibly small hands and fragile feet made of snow. They stood to observe their work, until Masha ran back into their cottage. She returned moments later with two small circles made of the beets' purple skin, some straw from their mattress, and a spoonful of borscht, which she gave Akem to hold.

She gingerly placed the two bits of beetskin where a child's eyes should go, and arranged the straw to fashion hair around the snow child's head. Akem, understanding, carefully painted a small dark mouth with the borscht, watching as steam rose from their creation.

"Not too much, Akem - we don't want to melt her," Masha cautioned. But both parents stood transfixed as the snow began to melt away, revealing ruby red lips, eyes a startling violet, and a delicate nose. The snow dissolved from miniature fists clenched in the freezing air, diminutive feet that kicked wildly.

"Masha, do you see what I see?" Akem whispered, rubbing his eyes.

"Are we dream-" Masha's reply was cut short by the very real cry of a newborn. "Quickly, we must take her inside before she freezes to death!"

But alas, as they sat by the fire, their child whimpered and cried, looking feverish despite her skin's chill. Finally, Masha bundled herself and Snegourka, as she had come to call the child, in blankets and went to sit outside with her. To her astonishment, when Snegourka kicked free of her swaddling, the color began to return to her cheeks, and her pitiful cries dwindled into a contented gurgling.

Snegourka grew quickly - a newborn one day, a toddler the next, and by midwinter, a lithe and lovely girl. Her skin remained cold to the touch, but her cheeks were rosy below her exotic, glowing eyes. Her hair gleamed like ice, with only the faintest touch of golden coloring. Her breasts, large and proud, stretched the fabric of her dress, which she kept cinched tight around her doll-like waist. She ran and played each day in the snow on legs as shapely as a goddess's.

Akem observed all these things each day, and in his love for Snegourka, he lost sight of Masha, whose skin grew sallow and her breathing, labored. You see, she had tried each day to follow Snegourka into the snow, to care for her and protect her as a mother should, only to tax her own body beyond its limits. One morning, Akem woke to find his wife cold in the bed beside him, and he wept.

Snegourka, still in her nightclothes, crept in to see what ailed her father. "My father," she asked, crouching near him, "what has happened?" When she went to wipe away his tear, a vicious burn appeared upon her finger, and she cried out. Snegourka had never seen tears before; her mother's love and her father's adulation had comprised her entire world.

Lightning quick, Snegourka ran through the front door and bent over to place her finger in the snow. Akem followed her.

"Oh, child...just like your mother," he said, tears freezing into diamonds on his cheeks.

'It's okay, father," Snegourka smiled. "The snow makes me strong."

From that day forward, Akem viewed Snegourka differently. She stood at his side as they buried her mother, and scattered three handsful of dirty snow onto her body before it was covered.

When they came home from the funeral, Akem told her to strip. Snegourka hesitated only a moment before doing so. Her skin shone with an almost crystalline brilliance, her high nipples catching the sunlight that entered through the cottage window. Her hair had grown to spun gold that brushed the top of her hips, almost joining the golden thatch that protected her womanhood. Her legs were lithe and strong from her hours of play outdoors.

Her violet eyes, impossibly cold, met his. "Yes, father?" She brushed the hair that hid her breasts behind her shoulder, and shifted from one foot to the other.

Akem's voice was rough with desire as he answered his child. "You are almost a woman now. Men will expect things of you; you need to be ready for them. Touch between your legs, Snegourka."

Blushing, a fine sheen appearing on her forehead and cheeks, Snegourka complied, and jumped back in surprise.

By this time, Akem had his cock out in his hand, hot and burning red. "Yes, Snegourka. Keep rubbing there, and I will rub here."

His hand slowly travelled from the base of his cock to the glans, tight around the manhood that he'd ignored since Snegourka's creation. He watched as her hips undulated before him lasciviously, her fingers rubbing the icy button between her thighs. His hand moved faster, tighter as his daughter, his snow maiden, his Snegourka cried out in ecstasy in front of him; rivulets of girlcum trailing down her thighs to the cottage's dirt floor.

"Father! Father, I must go outside, or I will surely perish." With that she ran through the front door and lay down in the snow, the color slowly returning to her cheeks as the snow rebuilt and rejuvenated her. Akem ran behind her, cock in hand; upon seeing his daughter's naked beauty laid out in the snow, he came, hot jets of semen arcing through the air before her, leaving angry welts on her thighs where his eager seed had hit her pale skin. Sitting up, she rubbed each welt in turn with snow, and the wounds were healed.

Daily, he experimented with his Snegourka, finding he could stroke within her freezing cunt as she lay in the snow; when she came around him in a torrent of icy nectar, he would pull out and spray his seed into the snow. Other days, he broke an icicle from the roofline, and had her push back her knees, and fucked her with it until she came, then had her suck her own juices from the icy dildo as he pistoned into her tight, cold pussy. His Snegourka, his Snow Maiden, taught him the pleasures of the cold, and he fell deeply in love with her.

"We must leave this place, Snegourka. We must go where no one knows us, and I will keep you as my wife. Surely this is why you were given to me, and Masha, God rest her soul, taken away."

And so they packed their few belongings into a cart, and travelled to the next town, where no one knew him, as travel was difficult in the mountains of Russia. He announced their impending wedding, much to the glee of their new neighbors.

"We will have your wedding with our summer solstice celebration," they said, "and the god and goddess returned from their honeymoon will bless your union."

The day of the wedding came, and the village was wild with activity, despite an unseasonably late snowfall. At sundown, the villagers gathered at the ancient circle to honor the solstice and bless the union of Akem and Snegourka, who shone resplendent in only a crown of hawthorn. Their hands bound by red cord, the sacred vows exchanged, and cakes and wine shared, they joined the revelling villagers. Couples began to jump the flames to purify their souls and bring themselves luck in the coming year. Who would jump the highest? Whose jump would fail? Whose wreath would float longest, and what new couples would emerge from the woods the next morning?

Akem smiled at his bride, grabbed her hand, and they took a running leap toward the flames, soaring above them with a whoop. Akem, however, came down alone as a column of steam rose from above the fire. Only Snegourka's wreath remained, blackened by the bonfire that had claimed it.

"What magic is this?" asked the villagers. "Was she ever here?"

Akem stood dumbfounded, and then snatched the smoldering wreath from the fire, plunging it into the snow. "Come back, Snegourka," he begged, "come back." As the still smoldering wreath touched the snow, he swore he heard the soft hiss of a whispered goodbye.

Each year for the rest of his life, Akem appeared outside his cottage after the first heavy snow, and built a snow-woman, and a snow-maiden in honor of his Masha and his Snegourka. He used beet peel to make the snow maiden's eyes, and tenderly painted her lips in fresh borscht, but the snow never again quickened. Akem lived out his days in silence and solitude, growing thinner and grayer with each passing year, until at last, one year, two boys sledding passed by Akem's front door, which was wide open. On his lawn stood a snow woman and a snow girl; between them was a heart, melted into the snow.

Akem was never heard from again, but they say that during blizzards, the winds outside Akem's cottage dance and laugh, throwing snowballs at any and all who pass by. And those who stay long enough will hear two women cry out in orgasm as the snows fall heaviest and deepest, leaving behind long ropes of ice. If you are lucky - very lucky - you will see a heart made of ice on the very spot that bound Akem to his snow women for all eternity.