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“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.
