Breeding Princess Meritamen

The moon was a pale sickle above the Nile, and in the lamplit bedchamber of the palace at Memphis, Princess Meritamen lay naked on sheets of finest linen. She was twenty, lithe and golden-skinned, her long black hair fanned across the pillows like spilled ink. Tonight the priests had declared her fertile; the stars had aligned, the sacred bull had been sacrificed, and her father the pharaoh had chosen the seed-bearer. Seti knelt beside her. He did not speak at first. Instead he trailed calloused fingertips from her ankle up the inside of her calf, pausing at the soft hollow behind her knee, then higher. When he reached the crease where thigh met hip she shivered. He spread her legs wider with gentle insistence, exposing her completely to the lamplight. “You are ready,” he said, voice low and rough. “I can smell it.” He pressed forward. The stretch was immediate, intense—burning sweetness that made her gasp. Inch by slow inch he sank inside until his hips met hers and he was buried to the root. They both groaned. She felt impossibly full, every ridge and vein of him pressed against her inner walls. Seti began to move—long, measured thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. Each withdrawal made her clench, each return made her moan. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the chamber, mingling with her soft cries and his deeper grunts. “Come inside me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Give me your child.” The words snapped something in him. His rhythm turned harder, faster—claiming, relentless. She felt him thicken inside her, felt the first warning pulse. Seti drove deep one final time, hips locked to hers, and spilled. He gathered her close, one hand splayed over her still-quivering belly. “Again at dawn,” he said against her temple. “And every night until the moon turns and your courses do not come.” Meritamen smiled into the crook of his neck, already feeling the delicious ache between her thighs. “Then stay inside me until then,” she murmured. Seti laughed softly, already stirring against her hip. “As my princess commands.”