“Close your eyes,” Rios said, his voice low and velvet-dark. “Feel the silk beneath you… feel yourself against it.”
Instantly, the world sharpened.
The cool silk against the heated skin of my back, the soft rustle of my dress shifting with each breath, the warm gravity of Rios seated nearby—all of it became amplified.
“Start with your chest,” he murmured. “Over the fabric, slowly. Discover yourself through touch. Texture. Tension. Reaction.”
My hand moved hesitantly at first, sliding up over my ribs, trembling. I reached the soft swell of my breast, the thin silk of my light dress catching on my palm.
The brush of fabric over my nipple was light, accidental—and yet devastating. A sharp rush of heat rolled through me, curling deep between my thighs.
My breath caught and I gasped audibly in the quiet room.
"Slower," Rios murmured, and I could hear something rougher in his voice now, though he kept it carefully controlled. "Don't rush toward the destination. Learn the journey. Tease yourself first.”
I obeyed, drawing a circle with my thumb over the aching tip, light enough to make my toes curl. Even through the fabric, I felt the immediate response, a tightening, a hardening that sent sensation straight down to my core.
My nipple peaked against the silk, and the friction made my thighs press together. I heard him exhale, quiet but not quite steady, and knowing he was watching only heightened my arousal.
"Touch the other one now. Cup yourself,” he said. “Let your hands learn you. Feel your own weight, your own softness. The shape, the way your body responds.”
My second hand rose, cupping the opposite breast. I squeezed gently, then more firmly, discovering what felt good, what sent pleasure radiating outward.
My own moan startled me—soft, needy, real. My back arched slightly off the silk, a deep heat flooding my skin and a soft sound escaped my lips, half sigh, half moan.
“There it is,” Rios said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That sound... That’s truth. Listen to your body. It's telling you what it wants.”
I was burning now. Everywhere. My breath came quicker, skin flushed, nipples taut and aching. My palms ached from clenching the silk beneath me.
“Lower,” he said. “Don’t rush. Glide down your stomach. Learn every inch.”
My hand trailed down my stomach, fingers splaying across the flat plane of my belly, feeling the rapid rise and fall of my breathing. I hesitated at the hem of my skirt, and Rios seemed to sense my uncertainty, but said nothing for a beat. Then—
"You're safe here," he said softly. "Safe to want. Safe to take what's yours. There is no shame in your pleasure, Princess. Only power."
And with that I slipped my hand beneath the fabric, and the change in sensation was immediate. My inner thigh was warm and impossibly soft. My fingers trembled as they moved up slowly, tracing heat, every inch more intense than the last.
Tracing upward slowly, I feel the heat building, feel the tremor in my muscles.
Grazing just above the place that pulsed, that throbbed with increasing insistence, my entire body jolted. I hadn't even touched myself properly yet, but the anticipation alone made me shake with need.
"Don't be shy," Rios said, and his voice was rougher now, affected despite his composure. “You want this and your body is begging.”
So I touched myself, lightly at first, carefully. A brush of fingertips against slick heat.
A gasp tore from my throat, helpless and hot. Even the lightest brush was too much—no, not too much—perfect. Slick heat coated my fingers.
I was already wet, ready, my body responding to touches I'd denied myself for too long. I started moving in slow, tiny circles, exploring, learning.
It was filthy, exquisite, humiliating and at the same time—just right. It built fast, too fast. My hips shifted restlessly against the silk, seeking more pressure, more friction.
“Move in circles,” he said, voice ragged now. “Slow. Gentle. Just enough. Let your body show you.”
I obeyed, finding that rhythm. Small, controlled. Pressure building. Breath shortening. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.
Shame tried to rise, but it was crushed beneath the flood of sensation. I moaned softly, thighs parting wider. My body was demanding more—not just permission, but abandon.
“I shouldn’t—” I panted.
“Yes,” he growled. “You should. You must. Give yourself what you’ve never dared to take.”
I pressed harder, circled faster, hips rising to meet my own hand. My body was hot everywhere, my face, my chest, between my legs where pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.
I wanted more… needed more.
And all the while, Rios just simply watched. Every breath I took, every tremor, was mirrored in the tension coiling in his jaw, his fists, the gleam in his storm-lit eyes.
The pressure growing unbearable, molten, perfect. My breath hitched, my lips parted in a silent cry as pleasure curled tight in my belly, sharp and inevitable.
“Don’t stop,” Rios murmured, voice laced with heat and lust. “Not now. Give it to yourself. Claim it.”
And I did. The climax hit like fire behind my eyes. My body arched off the silk, fingers slick, thighs trembling as waves of release crashed through me.
I moaned—loud and unrestrained, nothing soft or shy—just need, met. My back bowed, mouth open, pulse roaring in my ears.
Rios said nothing for a moment. Just the sound of me panting, the wet noise of my fingers still moving in slow, instinctive aftershocks. My skin was flushed and glowing, chest heaved with every ragged breath.
When I opened my eyes, he was already standing. Close. Too close.
His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling in controlled bursts. His fists clenched at his sides, as if it took every ounce of discipline not to reach for me while his gaze was locked to my hand still nestled between my legs.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached down. Not to touch me—but to wrap his long elegant fingers around my wrist.
My breath caught as he brought my trembling hand up between us.
I watched, spellbound, as he spread my fingers gently, exposing the glisten of my arousal to the flickering candlelight.
“This,” he said, his voice a dark whisper, “is what your pleasure looks like, Princess.”
He turned my palm slightly, holding it up as if it were sacred.
“This is not shame. It’s not filth. It’s power. A power no man, no crown, no law can take from you.”
My heart thundered, legs were still parted, dress rucked up around my hips, and yet the way he looked at me wasn’t lewd. It was worship.
He leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breath on my flushed lips.
“And now,” he murmured, eyes locked with mine, “you’ll never forget what it feels like.”
Then, slowly—achingly—he drew my slick fingers to his mouth and sucked. One finger. Then another.
His tongue slid along the pads of my fingertips like he was tasting sacred nectar. He groaned, just faintly, deep in his throat, as if savoring something holy.
I gasped as embarrassment bloomed hot in my chest.
When he was done, he pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. Then gently lowered my hand to rest over my fluttering chest, like he was returning something precious to its rightful place.
He stood, and for a moment, I thought the lesson was over, but then Rios turned away and returned with something small in his hand—an oval mirror framed in black-silver filigree.
He crouched beside me, held it up toward my face so I stared into it.
My lips were parted, red and swollen from bitten-back moans. My cheeks glowed, hair wild across the silk, eyes heavy-lidded and glazed with the aftershocks of release.
I looked… radiant. Undone. Alive.
“Look at yourself, Princess,” Rios said softly, firmly. “Not your face, not your title. You.”
I blinked, struggling to breathe, to understand.
“You’ve been taught your body as a future queen belongs to everyone but you,” he said, eyes locked on mine in the mirror. “Start there, reclaim this. Reclaim her.”
He placed the mirror beside me on the bench, its smooth weight cool against the silk. Then he straightened, composed once more.
“Lesson one is complete,” Rios said.
And just before he turned away, his eyes lingered on mine, dark with something deeper than lust.
“The next,” he added, voice low and deliberate, “is yours. Alone. With the mirror.”