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Jasmine - The Gilded Goddess (316 photos) (Patreon)
Content
The palace had been quiet since the wedding.
Jasmine, no longer a princess but the Sultana in all but name, grew restless behind golden doors and silk veils. One moonless night she dismissed the guards, locked the harem wing, and became someone else entirely.
She traded ceremonial gowns for scandalous pieces she’d smuggled from the black-market bazaar: a barely-there white satin halter that plunged to her navel, held together by a single turquoise clasp; a matching high-cut thong disappearing beneath a flowing gold cape that teased more than it concealed; sheer white thigh-high stockings laced with golden filigree, and sky-high metallic heels that clicked like a royal decree across marble floors.
The throne room was empty, torches dimmed to a sultry amber. She ascended the golden throne slowly, letting the cape pool at her feet like liquid sunlight, legs crossed high so the satin rode up, the turquoise gem at her throat catching every flicker of flame.
He had been waiting in the shadows (the captain of her personal guard, the only man she’d ever allowed to see her without a veil). He stepped forward when she crooked a finger.
“Your Majesty,” he began, voice rough.
Jasmine rose, heels echoing, and pressed a finger to his lips.
“Tonight,” she whispered, “I give the orders.”
She pushed him down onto the throne that had belonged to her father, straddled his lap, and let the satin slide from her shoulders. The cape became a blindfold. The stockings became restraints. The throne became their kingdom.
They didn’t make it past the first command.
Marble echoed with gasps and the rustle of silk as she rode him slow and deliberate, heels digging into the gilded arms, the turquoise clasp finally giving way. When she came, it was with her head thrown back, hair cascading like midnight, the entire palace seeming to tremble with her.
Later, sprawled across the throne (satin torn, stockings laddered, heels still on), Jasmine traced the Agrabah crest branded into the armrest.
“Same time tomorrow, Captain?” she purred.
He pulled her close, lips brushing the gem at her throat.
“Every night, my Sultana.”
Some thrones are inherited.
Some are claimed (one silk-wrapped moan at a time).
Download the full explicit set on MEGA
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