The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Nancy MadoreЧитать онлайн книгу.
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