Being a princess has a different meaning as an adult. Especially if that adult is an Arabian princes

Being a princess has a different meaning as an adult.

Especially if that adult is an Arabian princess who hasn’t been exposed to the heresy of Disney and the corrupting influence of the Brothers Grimm. There is no Fairy Godmother to help an ambitious young girl, if she didn’t happen to be born a princess.

Looks -that first look across the ballroom- alone were not enough to seduce a Sultan who already owned the most beautiful women money could buy. No, it required wit, guile and a certain beauty that revealing all could never show.

Like the drilling soldiers below, she practiced and rehearsed, disciplining herself and molding her body into a weapon. But while the soldiers were a weapon of hate that killed; she would be a weapon of love, and bring life. 

She would be a scabbard to his hard blade, tempering, but keeping him sharp. It thought coursed up her spine as she swayed her hips, the plunging hardness tempered in her flesh, the wetness soothing the heat of passion. He’d own her, completely and utterly in that moment, and she wouldn’t want it to end ever. She’d be enslaved to the fiery desire in his eyes, feel it rushing into her, filling her with each thrust. He’d be hard, but she’d be strong, the force between them becoming unstoppable.

But had to bring herself back to the world again. The future would be a long soon enough, and she had to get ready…

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DA|ST Photo.
Model: Ekaterina Mantropova.
Photographer: Daria Sokolovskaya