I Love You, My Cursed Prince

The chemise was rolled up and put with the pieces of her gown. She pulled her fabric clad legs up under herself and reached for the lid over the food tray. Her necklace dangled down.

The snack was a few halves of pale yellow cheese that still had their red wax shells. Muriel took a hunk and leaned back in the couch. Her free hand played around with her necklace as she lazily chewed on her food.

Basically nude and lazing about, her nɨppŀės hard, Muriel imagined she was a fine example of indulgence and ... well ... beauty too. That wasn't a vain thought, was it? After all, the prince did think she was beautiful.

When all of the cheese had been eaten, Muriel found that she didn't want to leave quite yet. She lingered, warm and excited, wondering just how the prince was behaving behind the walls. Was he touching ... certain parts of himself? Was he thinking of something even more carnal?

These ideas aroused Muriel's passions to a point where she had to, absolutely had to do something for herself.

She took a normal sitting position, her feet lightly touching a rug on the floor. Then the position wasn't so normal. Her legs spread apart.

Tentative at first, her hand stayed between her brėȧsts, under her necklace. Then it glided down to her abdomen. Her other hand rolled her necklace's beads around.

Click, click, clicking of fake pearls.

Down, below her navel.

Feeling the wiry hair.

Her ċŀɨtȯrɨs pulsed. Muriel had to touch it.

"Ah!!"

Her eyes closed.

Down, up, she petted herself, loving the tugging in her veins. Her toes bent against the rug.

"Ha ... ah!!"

She dipped a finger inside, right where she was slick and tight. She felt her muscles dance. She found that patch of flesh that made her insides jerk and weep, and she was soon doing the same.

He could see her. He could see how pink and moist her opening was, how her pubic hair sparkled, how her digits furiously worked to take her to what seemed to be the most satisfying thing in the world.

"Oh!! Ohhhhhhh!!"

Snap!

The beads rolled down her skin and onto the couch's seat. Some bounced on the floor. The necklace's string floated away. Muriel couldn't say where.

She was trapped by a feeling similar to terror but far too delicious to be negative.

It stopped. Her body slumped down. She had to catch herself and push her body back up.

Muriel giggled and realized that her plan was slightly ruined. She had wanted to do some sewing after eating, but she skipped right to the masturbation.

Well ... why not sew anyway? It might be silly, but she had a feeling that the prince didn't care.

She took a scrap piece of cloth from her sewing kit. Instead of water, she used saliva. She suċkėd on her fingers and then she wiped them. The taste was oddly boring to her. It was like sweat, really.

A plain bit of nicer fabric was meant to be a very pretty handkerchief. She took that handkerchief and started her work on folding and sewing the edges to keep them from unravelling. Then she sang a lullaby as if she was sitting beside a tired child and absolutely not mostly nude, and as if she hadn't just done a very sėxuȧŀ act.

More singing ... and more ...

She didn't even care that her necklace was broken. It was a cheap thing, anyway.

Eventually, she was tired of sewing, and she thought she was a little chilly. She packed her handkerchief away and starting picking up the stray beads. She put those beads into her sewing kit. Maybe she could use them in a different project?

She put her feet into her shoes. Then she put on her chemise and stays. The rest of her clothing had to be added too. When she was fully dressed, Muriel gave her almost traditional curtsy and thankful statement.