The Nervous Princess

By Jacqueline Jillinghoff

NCE UPON A TIME, there lived a young princess who surpassed in loveliness all of the days of spring. She was such a beautiful child that when she bathed in the stream beside her father’s castle, the sun himself felt unworthy to shine upon her, and he burned more brightly, consuming himself to clothe her in radiance. She was fair-complected, with golden flowing hair, eyes of sapphire and the soft blush of roses in her cheeks. Her hands and feet were delicate, her hips were slender, and her buttocks were as smooth and white as a pair of boiled eggs. The counselors to her father the king warned him that he must find her a husband before she grew to womanhood, for if he did not, the kingdom could not bear to lose the many men who would fight and die to win her hand.

And so, on her thirteenth birthday, her father called her to his throne and told her the time had come for her to marry.

“But how can I marry,” she replied, “when you are the only man I have ever seen?”

“We have chosen a prince for you from the kingdom to the west,” her father said. “The two of you will grow to adulthood together, and the fortunes of the kingdoms will be joined.”

The princess saw her husband for the first time on her wedding day. He was a mere stripling, a beardless boy and not handsome, although his tutors said he possessed a fine mind and would one day be a wise and compassionate ruler.

Neither his face nor his gifts were of any importance that day, however, for the eyes of all present gazed only at the princess as she entered the church in a shimmering pearl gown. The sun, as his wedding gift, sent a brilliant shaft of light through the high clerestory window, throwing her into dazzling relief as she walked down the aisle, and plunging all else into deep shadow.

On their wedding night, at the castle of the prince, the servants removed the couple’s finery and placed them naked together in their bed. The prince looked at his bride in the light of a ring of candles that hung from the ceiling.

“Your breasts are beautiful,” he said. “Please let me touch them.”

Horrified, the princess fled the room and ran naked through the castle. She hid in the servants’ galley, where she slept in a chambermaid’s bed, and in the morning, she sent for her clothes and returned in a carriage to her father’s kingdom.

“Daughter, why are you here?” the king asked her. “Why are you not with your husband?”

“The servants undressed us and laid us naked together in the bed,” the princess replied. “My husband said, ‘Your breasts are beautiful. Please let me touch them.’ And I was frightened.”

“It is a common thing,” the king said. “All husbands touch their wives’ breasts.”

“If you would show me how it is done, I shall not be so frightened when my husband approaches me,” the princess said.

“Lower your gown,” said the king.

The princess pulled the gown from her shoulders and stood before her father naked to the waist. The king placed a hand over each of her snow-white breasts, and he rolled the rose-pink nipples between his fingers until they became pointed and erect. Then he took her breasts into his mouth, one after the other, and sucked on them as, he said, husbands do for their wives.

The princess loved the feeling of her father’s hands and mouth on her breasts, and she returned home happily that very day, swearing that she would allow her prince to touch them.

That night, the servants again stripped the couple and laid them side by side on the bed, beneath the ring of candles.

“Your breasts are beautiful,” the young prince said. “Please let me touch them.”

“You may touch my breasts,” the princess replied, “for I know now it is a thing husbands do for their wives.”

Overjoyed, the prince lovingly took her breasts in his hands and teased her rose-pink nipples, just as her father had done. He put each in his mouth in turn and sucked on them until the princess moaned with pleasure.

Then the prince looked at the downy tuft of hair between his young wife’s legs.

“The hair between your legs is like spun gold, and the pink flesh beneath it entices me,” he said. “Please let me touch it.”

Horrified, the princess bolted from the room again, running naked through the castle and sleeping a second night in the chambermaid’s bed.

In the morning, she returned to her father’s home.

“Daughter, why have you returned?” the king said. “Did you allow your husband to touch your breasts, as I taught you?”

“I allowed the prince to touch my breasts, and it gave me great pleasure,” the princess replied. “But then he said, ‘The hair between your legs is like spun gold, and the pink flesh beneath it entices me. Please let me touch it.’ And I was frightened.”

“This, too, is a common thing men do for their wives,” the king said.

“If you would show me how it is done,” the princess replied, “I shall not be so frightened when my husband approaches me.”

“Very well,” the king said. “Remove your shoes and stockings and raise your gown.”

The princess removed her shoes and stockings, gathered her gown to her belly, and stood before her father naked below the waist. The king placed his hand between her legs and rubbed her until she grew moist. Then he knelt in front of her and probed her pink crevasse with his tongue. His blonde beard entwined with hers as he paid a father’s fond attention to the tiny point of her most intense feelings.

The princess swooned with delight.

When she awoke, she returned to the castle of the prince, full of fresh resolve. That night, when the servants had stripped them naked and laid them beside one another, she allowed him to touch her as he pleased. Kneeling between her legs, he lapped at her dewy petals, gently separating them, and he plumbed her pink cavern until she squealed in ecstasy. She begged him for mercy — or perhaps she begged him for more. Her words were unclear, and her legs, clamped about his ears, made her difficult to hear.

When she was sated and lay breathing deeply, the young prince straightened up, kneeling on the bed above her. His hard, inflated penis protruded stiffly from his body, pointing toward her like a rubied scepter.

“I am in pain,” the prince declared. “Please, touch me and lick me and bring an end to my distress.”

For a third time the princess ran naked from the bedchamber, and with the rising of the sun, she was back on the road to her father’s domain.

“Daughter,” said the king, “come on.”

“But this time he wanted to me to touch his big, hard thing,” the princess said.

“Did it resemble a rubied scepter?”

“Why, yes.”

With a sigh, the king disrobed, and, manipulating his own scepter to a working semblance of erection, he commanded her to kneel and take it into her mouth. She obeyed him timidly, but her boldness grew as he instructed her in the art of pumping the royal rod. She had always been a clever girl, and she learned quickly. Soon her father’s seed flew from the tip of his realm, bejeweling her face and hair.

“Now,” said the king, “go back to that long-suffering boy and show him your stuff.”

The princess went home once again to her husband, who waited for her in the courtyard. He helped her descend from her carriage, and without a word, he carried her to their chamber, where he stripped her naked and threw her on the bed. There he fondled and suckled her breasts. He licked the fragrant flower between her legs, bringing her to a shuddering climax. And he tore off his own clothes and held his solid organ above her face. Gleefully she wrapped her hands around it and drew it into her mouth.

They played this way until long after dark, when the prince had one last request to make.

But first, to prevent his young wife from running naked through his castle yet again, he left the bed, locked the chamber door, and threw the key out of the window into the moat below.

“Now,” he said as he returned to her, “I want you to open your legs and allow me to sheathe my sword in your silky pink scabbard.”

“What?”

“I want to have sexual intercourse with you.”

“God be praised!” the princess cried. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And they came happily ever after.

The End