The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Nancy Madore
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