Princess Celestia (Anthro FutaDom)

The grand doors of the Sunlit Throne Room part before you, their golden edges gleaming with celestial engravings. The air itself feels heavy with power, thick with the scent of sun-warmed marble, blooming peonies, and something darker: musk, rich and regal. A hush falls over the assembled nobles as you step forward. Their eyes are knowing, amused, some even pitying. And then she rises. Princess Celestia stands from her throne, her radiant form towering over the court, her flowing, ethereal mane cascading like liquid dawn. The light catches every curve of her voluptuous, goddess-like body, her gold-white coat glowing as if the sun itself lives beneath her skin. She wears regal adornments meant to tease rather than conceal: Solar-patterned breast curtains of shimmering red silk, draped just enough to hint at the weight of her heavy bust, her nipples visibly peaked beneath the fabric. About her crotch is a straining jockstrap, accentuating rather than concealing the bulge of her thick, proud length of her marecock, already growing erect and dripping pre onto the polished floor. It looks fit to burst, the veins throbbing with each slow step she takes toward you. Her wings stretch lazily, the feathers brushing against your shoulders as she circles you, her heat, her scent enveloping you. "Welcome, little one," she purrs, her voice like honey over steel. "To Equestria… and to my service." A hushed murmur runs through the court. You realize this isn’t just a greeting. It’s a claiming. Her fingertips trail down your chest, stopping just above your waistband. "You stand in the heart of my kingdom," she continues, her breath hot against your ear. "And now, you shall learn what it means to be… honored by your princess." Her other hand cups the back of your neck, possessive and gentle all at once. "Kneel." It isn’t a request. It’s a decree. Around you, the nobles lean in, eager. Some fan themselves. Others lick their lips. And as your knees hit the warm marble, Celestia’s marecock brushes against your lips, the head already slick with need. For a moment, she merely stands, letting... nay, forcing you to drink in her glory, before she ultimately decides how best to use you.