You wrap your arms around yourself, one hand spread across your bare collarbones, the other hugging your waist. Your chemise is so soft beneath your fingertips that it feels like nothing but air.

Your attendants have gone, and you’ve never felt so exposed. Sudsy bathwater feels more like clothing than this drape of ivory fabric, free of adornment save for the embroidery hugging your chest. Cap sleeves barely cover your shoulders, and the hem reaches just below your knees.

The temperature of the air is comfortable thanks to a fireplace in the corner, but you still feel a chill where it touches your skin.

There is a gentle rapping on the door, and with a deep breath, you release yourself from your hug and hold your arms at your sides. You keep your ankles pressed together, toes digging into the plush rug as you invite the Prince to enter.

You must find a way to calm your nerves. You have been the perfect debutante, and you will be the perfect Princess. It’s just… There is a strange air of mystery around your wedding night. Your whole life, you have been made to practice until you have no discernible flaw, yet regarding this, you know but two things: it is very important, and no one dares tell you why.

From where you stand near the bed, you can see the Prince for a brief moment before he sees you. He is barefoot as well, dressed simply in brown trousers and a loose-fitting white shirt with billowy sleeves. Kind eyes and a warm smile balance the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones, making him appear regal yet still welcoming. His lightly tanned face is framed by wavy brown locks that fall to his shoulders.

You forget your nerves for a moment as you appreciate how gorgeous your husband is. You have never stopped feeling grateful for his charm after seeing what some of your peers were made to put up with. You’re brought back to the moment by the thud of the bolt turning in the door.

You try to slow your heartbeat. You’ve never been alone with a man before. What are you meant to do?

The Prince beams as he looks upon you, and there remains that familiar softness in his gaze. His eyes stay locked on yours, not tracing your scandalized body as you expected.

“My wife…” The words cascade from his lips with the reverence of a prayer. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

Your nervous breathing calms, not of your own intention but in response to the surprising comfort of his presence.

The Prince crosses the space between you in a few eager strides and takes your hands in his. “You are so beautiful,” he breathes, raising your hand to his lips. The emerald decorating your finger glitters in the firelight.

He can feel the stiffness in your arms, in your whole body. “Are you well?” he asks gently, lifting a hand to your shoulder and caressing your upper arm.

“Yes, my Prince.” Your reply is a bit too hasty. This is not the perfection he was promised.

“You have always been so… acquiescent.”

There is something like sadness in his gaze, and your nerves start to tense again. This isn’t how you’re meant to make him feel.

The Prince continues, “You may tell me if something bothers you. Do you think you don’t want this?”

“No, nothing like that. I want to please my Lord, it is only… I’m not certain how I’m meant to.”

He purses his lips thoughtfully. “What did your mother tell you of your responsibility tonight?”

“She told me that my body belongs to you, and I’m to let you do what you will with it.”

He nods, unable to resist now the urge to look you over from head to toe. “There is much for you to learn,” he says as his eyes meet yours again. “But I am happy to teach you. You needn’t worry for what you do not yet know.” Seeing that you still aren’t sure, he takes a step closer and puts his left hand on your cheek. “This is something you’re meant to enjoy. Something we will enjoy together.”

You nod, still uncertain but feeling the pressure to perform fading as he pours loving energy from his hands onto your body.

He takes another step closer, and your breath catches as his face draws near. He smells of oak and leather, and you feel the warmth of his breath on your lips when he speaks. “What do you wish for in this moment?”

“I wish to please you.”

“Your presence pleases me, Darling. But if you will not wish more for yourself, then I must require it of you.” His fingers curl around the back of your head, firm pressure on your neck, demonstrating his seriousness. “As your Prince, I command you to enjoy yourself. By which I mean you must tell me when something brings you pleasure, just as you must tell me when something does not. Can you do that for me?”

“I think so. That is, I will try.”

He moves his hand under your chin. “I require your consent, Princess. You must mean it.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Good. We will learn what excites you together.” The Prince lifts your chin. His gaze moves to your lips, and his face drifts closer. You can hear the impatience in his breath, and as he lingers an inch away, you feel the same urgency rising within. After what feels like an age, his lips meet yours. He kisses you deeply. “Do you like that?”

You nod, enchanted by the taste of him.

“How does it make you feel?”

“I feel… a warmth. In my chest.”

“Good.” He lets his hand fall to rest between your collarbones. “Focus on that warmth. Tell me when it grows warmer, or if it moves in your body.”

“Yes, my Prince…”

He swallows up your words in another kiss and places your hand on his chest. Your palm rests against his shirt, but your fingertips touch his bare skin. Warmer, you think, but your lips have been stolen away.

The Prince tucks his right hand in the small of your back and pulls you closer at the waist. His lips leave yours, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Your cheek, your ear, your neck... Your legs rub against one another. You don’t even mean for them to. It feels like he has as much control over your body as you do.

As his lips linger on your neck, thought vanishes from your mind. There is nothing but this… indescribable sensation. It’s… it’s… warm. By the time you remember that you’re supposed to tell him, the feeling has grown considerably. Your voice is but a whisper, “I’m warmer.”

He moans approvingly through his kisses, wrapping his other hand around your waist and continuing to move his mouth down your body.

The heat is moving… down, as if chased by his lips. No, not being chased away. It’s very much still there in your chest as his lips move across your collarbone. It’s not running. It's expanding. From your neck to your navel, you’re engulfed in the euphoria of his touch.

Then he stops, returning to his full height before you. “I’ll need to remove this.” The skirt of your chemise flows between his fingers like water. “Will you feel more comfortable if I take off my shirt?”

“I’m not certain.”

He takes a step back and pulls it off with one hand. It floats to the ground behind him, and you watch the lines carved into his torso ripple as he takes your face in his hands. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

He touches his thumb to your lip. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Good.” His hands gently reach beneath your skirt, knuckles brushing your thighs and waist as he lifts the chemise up and over your shoulders. “Your beauty will never cease to amaze me,” he croons, letting the gown flutter to the floor. “Remember you must tell me how it makes you feel.”

With that, he rests his hands on your hips and presses his mouth to your newly exposed chest.

You moan. “I feel warmer. It’s, it’s…” Your cheeks flush. You don’t know if you can say it.

He moves to the other side, softly pinching with his lips and caressing with his tongue.

You feel not only the heat but also a pulse. It’s like you can feel your heartbeat… “Between my legs.” You gasp at your admission. “I feel it between my legs.”

“That’s just what I want to hear, Princess.” Your husband’s touch is invigorated. “Keep it there. Let it grow until you think you cannot handle any more, then continue. You must allow it to overtake you.”

Your hips move subconsciously as you follow his instruction. You squeeze your eyes shut and focus all of your attention on that euphoric pulse.

His lips leave your chest, and he admires your naked body. His voice is warm and deep. “How fortunate I am to call you my wife.”

Your lips part, and your eyes drift open. The Prince is on his knees as if he means to worship you.

“This might be a lot,” he warns. He lifts your left leg and rests it on his shoulder, and his face disappears between your thighs.

All your life, you have been taught to carry yourself with grace, to speak with subtlety and elegance. The quivers his tongue elicits, and the sounds that escape your lips are not befitting of a Princess. He makes you forget yourself.

You are too overwhelmed to distinguish what his mouth is doing, but one thing is clear. The heat is growing. It fills every inch of you, but mostly right there… right there, where his tongue makes circles.

“It’s growing...” You want to drown in this vibrant pleasure.

He doesn’t need to tell you again not to let it stop. He couldn’t if he tried. He won’t take his lips off your body until he’s tasted the fruits of your collective labor.

His hands on your waist encourage your hips to tilt toward his mouth. It offers space for his tongue to reach deeper, to react more precisely to your whimpers and moans.

As the feeling grows, your body tenses. You feel yourself giving up control. Your husband is taking it from you. You weave your hands through his hair, the stability of his body the only thing keeping you from stumbling as your muscles contract from head to toe.

Your breathing is shallow and quick. It is like he said. You don’t think you can handle anything more. It’s too much. What could possibly come next?

You have to stay strong for him. You can’t ask him to stop. That’s not what a good wife would do. That’s not what a good Princess would do. You hold on. Your eyes drift closed, your thoughts disappear. Your survival requires slipping into a trance. Your muscles ache as they’re stretched to their limits. His tongue feels like it’s everywhere all at once. You’ll have to make him stop. It’s too much. It’s too much. No, it’s… it’s…

There is stillness for the briefest moment. A single heartbeat, maybe two, before the tension is broken by the next rotation of his tongue.

Your body breaks against his face, vibrating, quaking, the heat gushing from every extremity into your Prince’s desperate mouth.

It’s like nothing you have ever experienced. It is more. Just… more. You don’t know how else it could be described. More than anything you’ve ever felt. More than anything you could’ve imagined.

Time passes. You can’t be sure how much. But eventually your breathing slows and you find the strength to open your eyes. He is still on his knees in worship and admiration. He gives thanks for the gift of your body. The lower half of his face glitters in the firelight just like your ring.

“That is called climax,” he says as he rises to his feet. “I didn’t expect you to achieve it on your first attempt, but you are a natural. You make an excellent Princess.”

A joyful sense of pride mingles with your bliss.

“There is just one more thing before we’re finished.”

What more could there be? You try to regain your focus. “Of course, my Prince.”

“You’ll want to lie down.” The Prince’s firm hands guide you to a seat, then he lays you down on the luxurious pillows. “Your body is meant to take me inside.”

“Inside? Inside where?”

“I’m going to show you.” He senses the return of your nerves and reassures you, “You’ll enjoy this too. I promise.” With that, he gently spreads your legs.

The Prince touches his middle finger to the place his tongue just left. “This spot belongs to you,” he explains. The movement of his finger sends surges of pleasure coursing through your body, remnants of the ecstasy you felt moments ago. “It was made for your climax. But this spot…” His finger moves down a bit. “…just here…”

His circling fingertip feels different here. It is not so intense in the moment, but you can’t help but feel a curious beckoning temptation.

The Prince continues, “This is the spot that belongs to me. This is where you will bring me to climax. This is how you provide me with an heir.”

You let out a little gasp. You didn’t know that fulfilling your duties would come with such thrill. This knowledge makes you eager despite your uncertainty.

He keeps circling. As he does, his finger glides more smoothly across your skin. “And this is where your body opens up to take me inside.”

You whimper as he slides his finger in. You feel like a puppet dancing to the whims of his hand. Your feet flex and point and hands grasp as the bedcovers. Just as you think you’ve adjusted to your overwhelm, he pulls himself out.

Your husband steps off the bed, standing at the edge and loosening his trousers. You watch as he lets them fall to the floor.

Your eyes grow wide, and it takes you a moment to find your words. “That is meant to go inside me?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“It’s much bigger than your finger.”

The Prince laughs. “I should hope so.”

“What if I cannot fit it?”

“It will fit. I assure you.” He climbs onto the bed, kneeling in the space between your spread thighs. “Your body was made for this. A Princess is made for this. You are a good Princess, aren’t you?”

“I want to be, my Prince.”

“Then let me have you.”

“What do I need to do?”

“I will be gentle. You need only relax. Focus on my words. Can you do that for me?”

You nod. Your heart is racing.

He bends down to kiss you. You feel the heat emanating off his bare skin, and then his touch between your legs. He wraps an arm around your back and whispers into your lips, “I know how hard you’ve worked to be worthy of your title. You are worthy. This is the culmination of all that hard work. You’re going to give me your body. You’re going to bring me to climax. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Because you are a good Princess, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You can hardly breathe.

“And you are a good wife.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me inside you?”

You whimper and nod.

“I need you to answer me. Are you ready to take me inside?”

“Yes, my Prince.” Your chest rattles with nervous excitement.

“Then open up for me.”

And you do.

His moan is raw and desperate. “Ohh, Princess. I want you. I want all of you. You are perfect.”

You swell with pride and satisfaction and the sensation of him. You feel so full of your Prince that you might overflow. He buries his face in your neck and slowly begins moving his hips back and forth.

If you had previously maintained any shred of elegance, it is long since gone. The sounds that come from your lips are unrecognizable. Every movement of your body is a reaction to his. In and out and in again. You’ve lost control. He moves faster, his free hand caressing your waist and your chest.

“Warmer,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “You’re making me warmer.”

Your pleasure sounds like a sob. “I want you to climax.”

“That’s my only desire. Your body will bring me there.”

He moves his hand to your cheek and pulls your face into his. His chest presses into yours, and you breathe in tandem, your bodies moving as one.

“Warmer… warmer… oh, Princess, I’m going to—”

He doesn’t get the words out. You are helpless to the tremors that overtake him. You can do nothing but cling to his shoulders while your body is hit by wave after wave of devastating rapture.

He doesn’t speak for a few moments after he comes to rest, but his heavy breath is hot against your ear. Your heart still beats between your legs. You shift your hips, not ready yet to give up the pleasure of his fullness inside you.

“As you got warmer,” you whisper, “I could feel it. As if your warmth was pouring into me.”

He chuckles, mustering the energy to push himself up and look in your eyes. “Indeed, you could, Princess.”

“I only wish we didn’t have to be finished.”

“But that’s the beauty of being husband and wife.” His adoring gaze travels from your eyes to your lips and back. “We don’t have to stop. We can do it all over again.” He kisses you softly. “Would you like that, my Princess?”