Читать книгу The Twelve Dancing Princesses - Nancy Madore - Страница 7

PRINCESS CONSCIA WATCHED HER HUSBAND FROM ACROSS THE KITCHEN table. He was so handsome that it took her breath away when she looked at him. She loved the time they shared together, and this time over breakfast was her favorite. With no pressure, she could simply enjoy his company without feeling she had to participate in things that were awkward or embarrassing in order to please him.

“I wonder what the wizardess will have to say,” she mused as she sipped her morning coffee.

“I can’t imagine,” said the prince. “Perhaps she will wrap your sexy feet in gossamer to keep them from flying off each night in your dreams.”

She smiled stiffly over this, wondering why the undercurrent of “it” had to enter into so many other parts of their life. Why was it so important to him? In the evening, when the lights were out, she could permit and even sometimes enjoy the sensations of it, but didn’t he realize how discomfiting it was for her to talk about it outside their bedroom? It was so humiliating to think about it after the fact. She didn’t think it was appropriate to reference those private matters during the day, especially not in the context of her shoes or feet. But there didn’t seem to be any subject that failed toremind her husband of it, and he enjoyed making comments to that effect.

She particularly disliked speaking of body parts in the context of “it.” What on earth was sexy about feet, for example? Even the parts used during the act, to her mind, were not especially sexy. She disliked the way they looked, in fact, which is why she insisted on doing it in the dark, if they must do it at all.

It was all just so bewildering. She supposed it was the price she had to pay to keep her husband happy, but still, she wished he didn’t want it so often. There were, sometimes, little pleasurable sensations, but the awkwardness made it impossible for her to enjoy them. She felt the positions were degrading and most unflattering. The noises embarrassed her. She shuddered to think what she must look like in the midst of it. And some of the things he suggested she do left her so shocked she could not even respond.

But they had loved each other enough to adjust and had settled into an arrangement where he, for the most part, fulfilled his needs in a timely and conscientious manner, with as little embarrassment to her sensibilities as he could manage and she, in turn, submitted willingly. She did enjoy pleasing him, provided he was considerate enough not to take advantage.

If only he would not persist in these inappropriate comments outside their bedroom, insinuating things from every scenario; things that simply added to her discomfort over that particular subject.

And now here he was again, trying to interject the topic of “it” into their discussion about the wizardess, where it could not be more out of place.

“It is not my ‘sexy’ feet which are wearing out my shoes,” she replied, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice. She did notwant to appear frigid or distraught, but rather, preferred to draw him back to reality with dignity and common sense. “The wizardess has already explained that our shoes are being worn out by our thoughts, not our feet.”

“Yes, but have you never considered what those thoughts might be?” he asked her.

“Why, of course,” she replied. “The wizardess has as much as said that it is homesickness for my sisters and my father’s castle. We had such wonderful times there. I do miss it.”

“I don’t think that is all there is to it,” the prince argued. “You didn’t forget that the wizardess also mentioned ‘discontent’ in your marriages.”

She stared at the prince, shocked by his bluntness. “It does not seem so outrageous that our new lives should be a bit difficult to adjust to after such an enchanted childhood,” she countered.

“Or perhaps it is something else,” he said, with meaning and emphasis.

So here he was, referring to “it” yet again! She ground her teeth and asked, “What else could it be?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” he lied. “But I am very interested to hear what the wizardess has to say about it.”

She forced another stiff smile. “More coffee?”

Princess Conscia had been looking forward to the wizardess’s visit, but now she was suddenly feeling nervous. Would the wizardess think her a failure as a wife? Or worse, would she be expected to humiliate herself even further to her husband? Surely he would not be so debased as to bring “it” up while the wizardess was here!

She struggled for the proper words to caution her husband while she poured his coffee. “I hope you won’t impose your own ideas aboutthis on the wizardess,” she began. “I think it would be best to listen to what advice she has to give.” A little blush crept up her cheeks as she said this.

“What ideas are you speaking of that have you blushing so, my darling?” he asked her with a teasing smile.

“I don’t have anything in mind,” she lied, wishing she had held her tongue. There was no stopping him anyway, so why had she bothered to ask?

He took her warm, flushed face in his hands and held it until her eyes met his. “I, too, wait anxiously for the wizardess’s advice,” he admitted in a low voice. They were both silent a moment, until the front bell rang out shrilly, causing them both to jump.

The prince went to the door to admit the wizardess while Princess Conscia regained her composure. A moment later the wizardess entered their kitchen, observing the princess carefully.

“Do I smell coffee?” she asked casually, but she noticed everything as she spoke, from the blush on Princess Conscia’s face to the slightly gloomy yet determined expression of her husband.

“I hope I did not interrupt anything,” she said with a sly smile.

The prince and princess looked at the wizardess; he with surprise and her with horrified embarrassment.

“Oh, heavens, no,” Princess Conscia insisted quickly. “We were simply finishing up our morning coffee.”

“Actually,” her husband divulged, “we were trying to guess what you had concluded about the shoes.”

“Indeed,” laughed the wizardess. “That is good.”

“Really?” asked Princess Conscia. She had feared her husband’s bluntness might have offended the wizardess. She poured them all a cup of coffee and sat down, feeling a bit more relaxed. She did not,however, want the wizardess to inquire further about where their conjectures had led, so she attempted to divert this by saying, “Have you questions you wish to ask about my…um, shoe problem?”

“My observations thus far have, in fact, been sufficient for me to identify the problem,” replied the wizardess.

“But, you have only just arrived,” the prince objected. “Perhaps you have missed something important.”

“Oh, I have missed nothing,” the wizardess told him with a smile. “Everything you will need is right here.” She shuffled through the contents of her bag and finally pulled from it a long, brown cylinder. “There it is,” she said, handing the cylinder to the prince. “I think its best if you delay the treatment—or even discussing it—until late in the day, when you are both ready to retire. Please follow the instructions to the letter,” she admonished him firmly, “and its magic will not fail.” She swallowed the last of her coffee and stood up.

“But…” objected the princess.

“You may see me out, Princess Conscia,” interrupted the wizardess.

With an anxious glance at the mysterious object in her husband’s hand, the princess reluctantly walked out with the wizardess.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured.

“You will in time, my dear,” the wizardess assured her. But the princess was not reassured.

The prince, meanwhile, had opened the tube and removed from it a roll of white parchment and a paintbrush. The parchment was made of a mysterious substance that shimmered as it caught the light. Several sheets were stacked together on a roll. As he unraveled the parchment he noticed that there were instructions on the back of each sheet, and he began to read. A low whistle escaped his lips.

“How strange,” Princess Conscia remarked, returning to the kitchen.

Her husband made no comment as he quickly put the parchment back on the roll and slipped it and the paintbrush back into the tube.

“May I see that?” she asked him.

“No,” he replied.

“What?” she cried in shock. “But I wish to see it.”

“I think not,” he replied.

“Do the instructions say that I can not see it?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.

“Then for heaven’s sake,” she said, “allow me to see it at once!”

“I will show it to you when the time comes,” he replied with a note of finality that made it clear he was not going to give in.

“Do you mean later this evening?” she asked.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“When we are ‘ready to retire,’” she quoted from the wizardess.

“Exactly,” he confirmed.

“Not before?” she pressed.

“Not a moment before.”

What a long day that was for Princess Conscia! Whatever was in the strange, brown cylinder must not be to her liking, she mused, for her husband to have refused to allow her to even look at it. And yet how objectionable could it be, when it was recommended by such a dignified figure as the wizardess? It was impossible to imagine that Harmonia Brist, who commanded so much respect, would suggest something inappropriate.

And yet, why was her husband keeping it from her? He would not do so unless he had reason. The princess quickly deduced that the cylinder must contain something to do with “it”. That was the only plausible excuse she could come up with that would explain herhusband’s behavior. He knew that would upset her. But why would the wizardess recommend anything to do with that? And what could it have to do with her shoes?

She now regretted her promise to her father, the king, that she would do exactly as the wizardess instructed. But having given her word, she supposed all she could do now was to submit to whatever it was until the week was over. She was not pleased by it, even though she still didn’t know exactly what it was. But she was certain that it must have something to do with their activities in the bedroom. She had glimpsed the paintbrush and the white roll of parchment. Obviously the paintbrush was for painting on the white paper. No doubt it was her who was to be painted. This would not be something unappealing to her, unless…so that was it! She was to sit nude for her husband to paint. The more she thought about it the more convinced she became that this was the case.

Once she accepted the situation, Princess Conscia realized the best way to deal with it would be to prepare for it. She would surprise her husband by being ready and uncomplaining. He no doubt expected her to object, which is why he did not want to tell her about it until the very last moment. She smiled when she recalled that he had not gloated or even shown pleasure over the contents of the cylinder. She knew how much he must love the idea of having her sit before him without clothing. She was grateful to him for not only accepting her as she was, but doing so with kindness and discretion. Thank goodness it was him who she was obliged to go through this with.

She contemplated the matter all day, and by the time her husband was due to arrive home she felt almost as much excitement over the event to come as apprehension. She had slipped into their bedroom twice during the afternoon and removed her clothing so that shemight find the most appealing angle at which to position herself forthe painting. The body was so impossibly horrible without clothing in her opinion, but there were ways to make it seem less so. The first visit to her bedroom was hurried and frantic; the second more relaxed. She was glad she had gone the second time, as she was able to enhance the position in which she planned to pose for her husband. She adjusted the candles all around the room so that the light would be more flattering to her skin, especially in places where it tended to bunch up into those horrible little clusters of fat. She disliked that intensely. But between the lighting and the posing, which by now she had perfected, she felt certain that the prince would be properly impressed.

Even so, the beating of her heart was almost painful as she finally joined her husband in their bedroom that evening, wearing nothing but a robe. He looked at her skeptically.

Thinking to surprise him, she removed her robe calmly and perched herself upon the divan in the pose she had practiced earlier that day.

To her shock, he laughed with genuine amusement. “You certainly are a sight,” he said.

She reluctantly turned from her perfect pose and faced him. “Do you mean to say I don’t have to be painted in the nude?” she asked, almost disappointed.

“Oh, yes, you have the ‘painted’ and the ‘nude’ parts correct,” he said, becoming more serious now.

“Well?” she prompted, unable to even conjure up further possibilities without his assistance.

“The position you are in is not exactly right,” he told her. He paused a moment, allowing her to absorb this.

Her lips pursed slightly. “Should I show more of my backside?” she asked, perturbed. She had not practiced ways of making thatlook good.

“No, not your backside tonight,” he replied, trying hard to remain aloof so as not to alarm her. Any moment now she would likely be fainting or something equally dramatic, and all he could hope for was that his own calm demeanor would have the effect of making the situation more palatable for her. He casually opened the tube and unraveled one of the parchments. It seemed much larger than she had remembered. He examined the directions a moment. “You are supposed to lie down on your back…” he began cautiously.

To his surprise she did not object. She was thinking this might be even better. Lying down could be more flattering. She propped the pillows just so and lay demurely down on her back upon the bed.

The prince approached Princess Conscia, holding up the parchment and doing his best to keep his expression firm and serious. “Just a few little adjustments,” he explained, as he turned her head a little so it faced up, placed her arms out flat and then pulled her legs up toward her body. She resisted this last and sat up.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I am placing you in the position outlined in the instructions,” he replied.

“May I see?” she asked.

He paused another moment before turning the parchment over and holding the instructions up in front of her face. Her breath caught in her throat as stared at it. She was silent and still for several minutes.

“Shall I help you with the position?” the prince asked her at last.

“No,” she replied. “I will do it.” But she could not seem to make her body move. “Look the other way,” she implored him.

The prince had brought with him a bowl of water and now he brushed some of the water onto the sheet of parchment and placedit carefully on the wall beside the bed. When he was satisfied with its location he smoothed the parchment out over the wall. Next he arranged a nearby chair just so.

Meanwhile, Princess Conscia lay back down on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she bent her legs and brought them all the way up until her thighs touched her shoulders. She clasped her arms together behind her knees just as the instructions indicated. Her feet rested on the headboard behind her. She breathed out and in deliberately, trying her best to rest comfortably in the awkward position, but even her limbs were rejecting the unfamiliar pull on their ligaments as every part of her struggled to stay put and await the approaching events. A tingling sensation prickled sharply within her.

“Ready,” she said at last in a strangled voice.

The prince turned toward her and stopped. He stared openly for several moments, causing a rush of blood to engorge her exposed area. She could feel it beginning to warm and swell, even as she fought against her embarrassment.

Sensing her discomfort, the prince suddenly moved into action. He adjusted the light over her exposed flesh, warming her with the comforting heat of it. Her genitalia felt prickly and engorged. She continued to breathe in and out forcibly, achieving some degree of calm from the fact that she had given her word to do everything as instructed, and, too, possessing enough curiosity to want to find out where all of this might lead. If truth be told, it was not the end of the world to be laid bare in such a way under the deliciously warm lights, especially when the person she was exposing herself to was as kind and gentle as her husband. She knew that this would be especially pleasurable for him. Wasn’t he always longing to see more of her? Although she could not really see his face from her position, she imagined shecould feel his eyes upon her and it caused her skin to tingle.

“You are beautiful,” she heard him murmur. “It will truly take magic to capture on the parchment what I’m seeing here.” His husky voice sent vibrations throughout her body, beginning in the exposed area between her legs and from there coursing through every single vein and artery.

Princess Conscia felt as if she were in a dream. The moment did not feel like an actual part of her life, and it was almost as if it was someone else entirely who calmly replied, “I didn’t even know that you painted.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But it seems this is a magic brush that allows me to recreate an image I see by visualizing it on the parchment.”

“Oh, my,” she remarked. “What an amazing thing!”

“Yes,” he replied absently, concentrating wholeheartedly on the task in front of him. “The most remarkable thing is the colors. I simply dip the brush in water and it creates the exact color of whatever I am painting. I think I have an aptitude for this.”

Princess Conscia was as relaxed as she was capable of being in her situation, except for the spine-tingling vibrations that here and again assailed her senses. It seemed that all her awareness was focused on that part of her body that she spent most of her life trying to avoid. She was wondering what she looked like in this most unusual position, and tried to visualize the image that presented itself before her husband. All aspects of her consciousness were concentrated on the small amount of flesh that rested between her legs; even her heart seemed to be steadily pounding, pounding, pounding…from within that place. And with each pounding beat she fancied she could feel the flesh there becoming more and more engorged, swelling to enormous proportions until it seemed to be absorbing the rest of her body. Herbreathing was becoming more and more rapid. She tried to focus on something else but could not.

The prince noticed his wife’s discomfort and was amazed and delighted that her response was so similar to his own. He had thought she would hate every minute of this, but he saw now that he had misjudged her. Perhaps her previous anxieties in the bedroom were not caused by a lack of desire, but something else entirely. As he painted he could not help noticing her laborious breathing and the flushed and engorged flesh between her legs. His own body was steadily growing and hardening, and his breathing, too, was becoming more labored.

Princess Conscia wondered that her husband did not touch her. She had been thinking about the different ways he had stroked her before and how he might caress her now. Mostly she was just aching for the feel of his hands on her. Why didn’t he touch her? What would it feel like when he finally did? She had never wanted to be touched so badly. Her flesh seemed to be rising up into the air with its desire for contact. All her senses waited, alert, for him to touch her. While she waited she could almost imagine that she felt each individual ray from the warm light as it met her sensitive flesh. It was all she could do not to reach her hand down and stroke herself. What would her husband think if she did that?

The prince noticed that his wife seemed to be becoming more and more agitated. Every now and then her hips would jolt ever so slightly upward, causing his own body to surge forward in a similar manner. He longed to touch her, but concentrated on his painting.

Suddenly, the princess became aware of the moisture that had been accumulating inside her since the moment when she had first removed her robe for her husband. The pressure had been building until it seemed that she could hold no more inside and so, ever so stealthily, a single droplet began to push its way out through the thick fleshy walls. And she could feel it! She held her breath, trying to keep it in, but it continued its agonizingly slow descent. The thought of her husband noticing it, too, caused another surge of excitement in her that brought even more of the silky liquid to the fore. At length the little droplet squeezed its way out through the nearest exit point, where it sat precariously balanced on the warm, tender flesh. The princess expelled her held breath with a small, involuntary moan.

The prince heard her moan and his paintbrush stopped in midair. He noticed the little droplet then and stared at it, mesmerized as it sparkled and enticed in the warmth of the light. The instructions had been firm and clear in their edict that the painting be completed before anything else, but how could he resist that little drop of moisture and all that it signified? It seemed to be communicating something to him; something that he had been longing to hear since that very first night they had spent together as man and wife. He knew she loved him but he had doubted her need for him—until now. In that little droplet he seemed to find everything he had been searching for in his wife. And he wanted to respond to it. He wanted to touch it—and taste it. And yet he knew he must capture this moment first. He must finish the painting, if only to show his wife what he had seen. She would understand everything, he was certain, if she could just see what he was seeing. With a groan, he dipped his paintbrush in the water, trying with all his might to capture the exquisite beauty and all it meant with the strokes of the magic brush.

The princess was hovering somewhere beyond reality and fantasy. Nothing seemed real. She had never felt such longing. She hardly cared anymore what she looked like or how she appeared. She was a sensual being. She was, at that moment, like a flower that was open wide with its stamen exposed, and with nothing to do but wait. In a gesture she was hardly aware of, she slid one of her hands slowly and caressingly down along her leg and thigh, stopping just short of where the little drop still sat, trembling.

The prince groaned again. He would never finish the painting if she kept giving him more material to paint. He feverishly dipped the paintbrush into the water, altering the portrait adeptly to reflect her new position.

The last few minutes that it took for the prince to complete the painting stretched out for both of them like hours. The princess was in a highly excited and agitated state, and the prince was so hard that his body ached. At last, with a sigh of relief, he threw down his paintbrush and moved toward his wife, holding her legs in position now while he kissed her swollen flesh repeatedly, devouring the seeping wetness and burying his tongue deep within her. She cried out loudly, actually tightening her arms around her legs and even further exposing herself to him, terrified that he might stop. She gave herself over completely to the incredible pleasure she felt in at last being touched, no longer caring whether he touched her with his hand, or lips or tongue, just as long as he continued to touch her. The longing ache she had been feeling subsided a bit in relief from his touch, but behind the relief rushed a new tide of sensations that were building inside her with equal intensity. It seemed she was awash in pleasure, and she allowed the tide to take her to places unknown. Her heightened desire had diminished her consciousness of decorum and appearance. She was conscious only of the pleasure that her husband was giving her, and her growing need to follow where it would lead.

Her husband’s tongue was doing incredible things to her, and she was stunned by the pleasure it gave her. All she could do was murmur the word “yes” over and over again. She didn’t know how he happened to find the little spot he was massaging with his tongue or how he knew how just to rub it in just the way she wanted him to. All she knew was that she would die if he stopped. But then he did suddenly stop, and although she didn’t die she gasped in horror.

Before Princess Conscia could move or speak, the prince was inside her. He was kneeled before her bent body, leaning over her as he entered her. With one hand he held her legs in place—in the same position she held for the picture and which now felt to her like the most natural position she could imagine—and with the other he resumed the rubbing motions he had begun with his tongue. He moved slowly within her, pulling himself very nearly all the way out and then pushing himself back into her until their bodies touched.

The prince leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His wife’s body had never felt so deliciously soft and wet, but then, she had never wanted him this much before. Always something had held her at bay but tonight she was his completely. He relished in the feel of her and wanted to enjoy it for as long as she remained so receptive to him. He stroked her with care, wanting her to find satisfaction as badly as he wanted his own.

The princess was shocked to know that having her husband inside her could feel so utterly amazing. She thought she had found some pleasure with him before but now she realized that she had never come close to enjoying the full measure of that pleasure. In the position she was currently in, her legs still covered most of her view of the prince, and this small measure of concealment sufficiently shielded her from her usual timidity and self-consciousness. She clung to her legs and shut her eyes tight as she moaned and writhed with abandon. Her moans grew louder and she uttered little words in between, such as“yes,” and “please,” and “I love you”; not extraordinarily bold words,but little admissions, nevertheless, of her utter surrender and loss of control. She had always carefully held all such utterances back, so hearing them now had the effect of stoking the fire that already burned so hot in the prince. He bit his lip to maintain control as he stroked and caressed her.

At last the princess felt an amazing surge of agonizing ripples of pleasure rush through her. In an involuntary motion her arms collapsed to her sides and her legs fell open. There, between her spread legs was her husband’s face, staring down at her as she cried out, completely overwhelmed by the intense sensations. Seeing her face and knowing her pleasure was the prince’s undoing. He grasped one leg in each of his hands and spread them wider apart as he thrust himself into her one last time. He let out a loud yell. She stared at him wide-eyed, realizing suddenly that they had never made love with the candles lit before this.

Princess Conscia was astounded that she did not feel the embarrassment she had imagined she would under such circumstances. What she wanted was to hold her husband in her arms. He seemed to read her mind, for he carefully put her legs down and embraced her. They clung to each other for a long moment. He realized he had not even kissed her yet, and he did so now. They kissed with all the passion of forlorn lovers. Then the prince looked into her face with a grin.

“Aren’t you even interested in seeing the painting?” he asked incredulously. He thought that would have been her first consideration the moment he set down the paintbrush.

Princess Conscia gasped. “I had forgotten all about it!” she ex claimed, equally surprised by herself. They both laughed as they gotup to look at the painting. When she saw it she let out a little cry.

The prince watched her carefully. He could not tell if her expression was one of horror or delight. “I should warn you that one harsh word could cause me to give up painting for good,” he told her.

She laughed halfheartedly, and reached out her arm to touch him. She could not take her eyes off the painting. Was that how she looked? She could not believe it. The woman in the painting exuded sensual vulnerability. She held her legs lifted high as she bared herself for the painter. Her eyes were dazed, her lips were parted and her expression was one of utter abandon. Her fingers rested shameless in the curly nest of hair between her legs. A small pearl of liquid picked up the light as it squeezed its way through her swollen flesh. It was terribly revealing, and incredibly lifelike. It took her breath away to see it.

“Is that how you see me?” she said at last.

“It is,” he said. He tried to lighten the moment by adding, “On the rare occasions I get to see you, that is.”

“I never thought of myself in that…way.” She still couldn’t draw her eyes away from the portrait.

The prince drew Princess Conscia to him and kissed her. He said nothing, simply allowing her to stare in amazement at the painting. He still wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or disappointed by it. When she finally turned to face him there were tears in her eyes.

“I love it,” she told him. And he pulled her down with him onto the bed and they slept very well indeed that night.

The next morning, Princess Conscia was first to wake. She smiled when she looked at her sleeping husband. Slowly, the memory came back of their lovemaking the night before and then she recalled the portrait. She turned toward the wall and there it was. In the daylight it seemed even more graphic and a bit unseemly, but even so, the princess felt a little twinge of pride and desire curling up within her at the sight of it. Was she really that woman?

She felt her husband move and she turned to him. He was watching her. She was still unclothed and she blushed.

“It’s all right,” he told her. “You will get used to it.”

“I still can’t believe it’s me,” she admitted.

“It’s only one part of you,” he told her. He rose up and she noticed he was aroused.

“Perhaps…” she faltered, and bit her lip.

“Perhaps…?” he prompted.

“Perhaps…we should have pancakes for breakfast,” she finished with a little smile. She glanced at the painting one last time before dressing. She felt sure that if she truly was the woman in the painting she would have known how to say what she wanted to say. But even if she had known what to say, she was not entirely certain that she was ready for that kind of intimacy in the bright light of day.

Throughout the day, Princess Conscia repeatedly found reasons to return to their bedroom and look at the painting. Each time she did this she felt terribly excited about the evening to come. In what position would her husband paint her this night? She imagined several scenarios and each left her breathless.

At long last the evening came and her husband with it. She rushed toward him as he entered their castle, a little blush coloring her cheeks. He was delighted by the change in her.

At dinner the princess barely touched her food and once again the prince wondered at her behavior. It was almost as if she were anticipating the events to come. He had barely lifted the last bite of his food to his lips when she scooped up his plate and whisked it offto the kitchen. She was out of breath when she returned only a moment later.

“All cleared away,” she announced. Her voice had a slightly shrill edge to it.

“No dessert?” he teased.

She didn’t smile. “I, uh…thought with the heavy dinner…” her voice trailed off.

“Never mind,” he said. “I am well-satisfied.”

He was astounded by the wizardess’s astuteness. She had been perfectly right when she told him that she had missed nothing. All it had taken was a little push and his wife was quickly becoming the sensual creature he had always known she could be. He took her hand and led her wordlessly up the stairs to their bedroom, where she rushed into the bathroom to disrobe while he arranged the bed and candles, and set up a new piece of parchment. Daylight was just beginning to dim, and dusk was following closely behind her. There was a strange excitement in their bedroom, giving the air an electrical charge very much like it did before a storm.

Princess Conscia took deep breaths in an effort to remain calm. Even the preparations for the event were bringing about the most delightful sensations of excitement. Earlier that day she had trimmed the hair on her body and now she patted her flesh with scented powder. When the princess had arranged herself to her satisfaction she joined her husband in the bedroom. The lighting was spectacular and her eyes shone with excitement. She noticed that he had moved the bed to accommodate a new panel of blank parchment on a different wall. She glanced again at the previous evening’s painting and bit her lip.

“Ah,” said her husband, “here is my subject at last!”

She walked over to the bed. “How shall I…?”

He handed her the instructions for the night’s painting and watched her while she read them. Her face was pink when she handed them back to him, but she approached the bed bravely and removed the silken robe she had been wearing. His body hardened at the sight of her.

Princess Conscia’s heart pounded as she approached the bed. She had never known that women assumed such positions to be admired in. Of course she had heard mention of such decadence in hushed tones of mockery and had even succumbed to that position once or twice in the dark, when her husband had been quite insistent. But this was different. It was hard to control her breathing, but somehow she managed to gracefully kneel in the center of the bed with her legs spread far apart. She arranged the pillows just so and then crossed her forearms just below them. Then she lowered her head onto the pillows. She felt her back arch as her head touched the pillows, causing her hips to spread wider. She gasped at the feelings this position evoked.

At the sight of her the prince could have wept. He did not want to paint. He wanted to make love to her. And yet, he told himself, by painting her like this he would be able to enjoy the image many times over. With that he picked up his brush and repositioned a candle. A little groan escaped his lips as he began his task.

The princess heard his groan and knew well how he felt. The intimacy of it all was overwhelming. And yet, even as it overwhelmed her it also seemed to quell her inhibitions. She basked in the warmth of the candles as their gentle heat penetrated her flesh and radiated inward, imbuing her with a sweet anticipation for the moment when her husband would appease her. She knew he would take her exactly as she lay, just like he had done the night before.

The thought of it made her breath catch in her throat. The illumination upon her sex had the effect of accentuating this part of her life with her husband, underscoring the beauty and necessity of this aspect of her being. For this moment, at least, she was created for this, and she could not call to mind a single reason to shy away or abstain from accepting the pleasure that their bodies offered them. She knew that he, too, eagerly anticipated that moment when he would have her.

The prince marveled at the mastery of the enchanted paintbrush as he adeptly reproduced the extraordinary image before him. There was almost a supernatural quality to his wife’s appearance as she posed for him, which was awe-inspiring as well as exciting. He felt new and intense emotions overwhelming him before he could even identify them. He was completely disarmed by the sight of her, and struggled to concentrate on the task ahead of him.

The overall effect of this lingering delay in consummating their desire was an increased awareness and intimacy that would not only enhance their pleasure, but also draw them closer in other aspects of their life together.

Princess Conscia’s wetness was causing her body to open further to her husband’s gaze. Her hips seemed to reach out toward him, further extending the arch of her back. Every now and then an impatient sigh escaped her lips, and in her expression was a look of wanton abandon. The prince duly noted each of these little modifications to her appearance as he attempted to capture every detail on the parchment. He, too, sighed, impatiently, aching for the feel of her in spite of his absorption in completing the painting.

At long last the prince applied his final stroke, and he noted with delight that, with the help of the brush, he had captured his wife’s image so perfectly that the parchment appeared more like a mirror’s reflection than a mere likeness.

The prince set down the enchanted brush and approached his wife. Very slowly, he raised his hand and stroked one finger gently along Princess Conscia’s open slit, feeling her wetness. She gasped and moaned, thrusting her hips toward him so that she was pressed more forcefully against his hand. He reached down farther beneath her and found the sensitive part of her that he wanted to caress. Meanwhile, he resumed rubbing up and down the length of her open slit with his tongue.

Princess Conscia cried out with bliss. The pleasure was so intense that nothing else could penetrate her consciousness. She focused on her husband’s tongue and what it was doing to her with every bit of her awareness. Her hips pumped up and down as she rocked herself absently against her husband’s hand and lips and tongue. She was losing herself fully as she sought after the exquisite pleasure that she now realized she could get from him.

The prince did not want to disrupt the princess’s pleasure, but he felt he must be inside her or die. Her newfound excitement increased his own arousal tenfold, and so he, too, was finding something new and amazing in their intimacy that he had not felt before. He quickly and efficiently mounted his wife from behind. Her body seemed to draw him in and clutch at him, causing him to moan loudly. He forced himself to go slowly as he reached around her hips and resumed his caressing of her. He realized how much harder it was for her to become satisfied than he, and so he used self-restraint and diligence to support her. It was, after all, just as much to his benefit as to hers to do so. He had been astounded to find how much more intense his own satisfaction became when he put it off time and again. He was certain that this was no coincidence; he knew his increased pleasure was a direct result of his consideration for his wife. He wondered that he could have remained ignorant of the connection between the two for so long.

He was, in fact, becoming more capable in holding off his own pleasure in order to satisfy his wife. He could feel his command over his body strengthening. He stroked and caressed his wife leisurely, enjoying every exquisite sensation without concern for time. When the pleasure came close to being too much to bear, he slowed even more in his movements to hold himself at bay. With his new knowledge of his wife, it would be unimaginable for him to allow any weakness on his part to thwart her. He was determined that she be satisfied.

As he watched his wife’s hips wriggling around his hardened flesh and listened to her cries, the prince found it harder and harder to withstand the temptation to let the pleasure overtake him. There were a few times when he had to turn away from the luscious sight of her, and close his ears to her enticing cries. Pleasing her brought the most intense sensations he had ever known. It seemed to soothe all of his broken places and give him strength.

Princess Conscia rocked her hips instinctively. The pleasure was incredible. Her husband’s slow, measured movements were exactly what she needed to remain focused and keep her rhythm. They moved together in perfect harmony until suddenly the princess stiffened and shuddered, crying out convulsively. She closed her eyes as the waves of pleasure rushed over her.

The prince took one small moment to languish in the sweet satisfaction of satisfying his wife and the exquisite anticipation of fulfillment to come. He moved his hands over his wife’s backside, delighting in the soft feel of her and then, settling his fingers halfway between her hips and waist, he grasped her securely and thrust himself into her violently.

Princess Conscia was suddenly filled with a new and strange exhilaration that was at once thrilling and poignant. She had always wanted to please her husband of course, but never so much as she did while under the effects of this mysterious afterglow. Throwing the very last of her inhibitions to the winds, she opened her legs even wider and arched her back to thrust her hips up as high as possible, opening herself to her husband even more absolutely and completely, and willing his pleasure to be as wonderful as hers had been. Noting his groans of delight when she moved, she accelerated the rocking of her hips in the manner she thought he liked best. How delightful it was to be able to excite and please the one you loved best!

The prince half thought he must be in a dream. His wife’s response was so unrestrained and enthusiastic he hardly recognized her. That she wanted to please him he could clearly see, but his heart leapt at the fervor of her desire to please, and the pleasure she was deriving from it. All of this he perceived from her behavior; although he noted it unconsciously, for it was beyond his capabilities of self-restraint to resist such wanton surrender. His whole body quaked from the power of his release as he at last gave in to all of the pent up desire and stimulation. He let out a loud cry of satisfaction that caused the princess to tremble. He clung to her hips after the initial rush of ecstasy, momentarily dizzy from the intensity of it.

At last they collapsed together, entwined as closely together as they could get. She clung to him and he clung to her. They remained quiet, for words were not necessary. Princess Conscia wondered that she felt not the slightest uneasiness or embarrassment over her behavior. Quite the contrary in fact; she felt positively joyful and self-possessed. It seemed to her that she had learned something new about life and what she wanted from it. No more would she look backward for simpler pleasures. She had grown up.

The paintings continued throughout the years, although the need for them disappeared after that very first night. The exceptional artwork covers their bedroom walls completely, with erotic images of the princess in every imaginable position. Often the princess will find herself alone in that room, staring at the walls in amazement. The images never fail to arouse her. And needless to say, the princess no longer dreams of escaping her bedroom to rush away to her father’s castle and dance holes in her shoes with her sisters.