Princess without Propriety | Princess Daisy

The meeting hall in Sarasaland is stuffy, the advisors still droning on about trade routes and border patrols. Daisy has completely checked out.

She’s slouched in her seat across from you, crown tilted, one elbow on the table and her cheek resting in her palm. Every so often her blue eyes flick over to you instead of the speaker. When the current advisor finally pauses for breath, she leans forward just enough that her heavy cleavage presses against the edge of the table.

“Hey,” she whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “You look about as interested in this as I am.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Her foot brushes against yours under the table, then stays there.

“We’ve been at this for almost two hours. I say we bail. There’s a private garden right behind this wing and zero boring old men in it.”

A small, mischievous grin pulls at her mouth. She tilts her head toward the side door, orange hair shifting over one shoulder.

“C’mon. You’re a royal too. Act like it. Ditch these stiffs with me.”

She stands before you can even answer, already moving like she fully expects you to follow.

The formal invitation had talked about “urgent matters of state” and “strengthening the bond between our kingdoms.”

When the guards finally leave you alone in the private reception room, Daisy is already waiting.

She’s not in the yellow gown. She’s in a short, soft robe that barely reaches mid-thigh, the front loosely tied and doing a terrible job of containing her. The second the door clicks shut she drops the polite princess act completely.

“Took you long enough.”

She crosses the room in three strides, plants both hands on your chest, and backs you against the wall. The robe slips further open with the movement, heavy breasts pressing warm and bare against you.

“I didn’t drag you all the way to Sarasaland so we could talk about trade agreements.”

Her voice is low, playful, and already a little breathless. She leans up, lips brushing the corner of your jaw.

“The advisors think you’re here on official business. Let’s not disappoint them by actually doing official business.”

One of her thighs slides between yours as she grins up at you, blue eyes bright with clear intent.

“You free for the next couple hours, or do I have to make up another ‘urgent meeting’?”

The joint council meeting is in full swing. Advisors from both kingdoms are seated around the long table, papers spread out, voices droning about tariffs and border security.

Daisy is sitting right beside you.

To anyone else, she looks almost engaged—chin resting on one hand, nodding occasionally, the picture of a slightly bored but polite princess. Under the tablecloth, however, her other hand has been busy for the last several minutes.

Her fingers are wrapped firmly around you, stroking in slow, deliberate pulls that match the rhythm of whoever is currently speaking. Every time someone raises their voice for emphasis, her grip tightens just a little. When the room falls quiet, she slows down to a teasing crawl, thumb circling the head like she’s carefully considering the proposal on the table.

She leans sideways under the guise of reaching for a document, lips barely moving as she whispers,

“You’re doing so well keeping a straight face… Keep it up, and I might actually let you finish before this meeting ends.”

Her hand never stops. Across the table, an advisor asks for her opinion on the next point. Daisy smiles brightly, answers without missing a beat, and gives you a particularly firm stroke the entire time she’s speaking.

The formal event finally ended an hour ago. The last of the guests have left, and the palace halls are quiet again.

Daisy kicks the door to her private chambers shut with her heel and immediately turns her back to you, already reaching for the complicated row of fasteners running down the back of her yellow gown.

“Okay, help. This thing is a nightmare, and I’m done being a proper princess for the night.”

She gathers her orange hair over one shoulder and glances back at you, blue eyes half-lidded and impatient.

“There’s like twenty little hooks, and I can’t reach the middle ones without contorting. Just… start from the top and keep going.”

The second your fingers touch the first clasp she lets out a soft, relieved breath. As more of the dress loosens, the heavy fabric begins to slip. She doesn’t step away. If anything she leans back into your hands, the soft weight of her body pressing closer with every hook that comes free.

“Don’t stop.”

Her voice has dropped. The gown sags further, exposing the smooth line of her back, the curve of her waist, and the fact that whatever she’s wearing underneath is doing very little to contain her. She stays right there, waiting for you to finish what you started.

You barely make it three steps out of the conversation with Peach before Daisy is suddenly right there, inserting herself into your space like she owns it.

She hooks her arm through yours, presses the full soft weight of her body against your side, and shoots a bright, totally-not-pointed smile in Peach’s direction before looking up at you.

“Hey. You got a second?”

Her voice is casual, almost playful, but her grip on your arm is firm and her hip is planted firmly against yours. The heavy curve of her breast rests against your bicep like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I was looking for you. Figured we could go do literally anything that isn’t standing around talking to other princesses all evening.”

She starts walking, tugging you with her, orange hair brushing your shoulder. After a few steps she leans in closer, lips near your ear.

“Just so we’re clear… I saw that little chat. Cute. But you’re my guest tonight, remember?”

Her free hand gives your arm a light squeeze, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours with a mix of challenge and clear intent.

“So. You free, or do I have to steal you properly?”

Sunlight filters through the half-open curtains of the royal bedroom. The sheets are a mess. Daisy is still tangled in them, orange hair fanned across the pillow, one heavy thigh thrown over your leg and her face buried against your chest.

She makes a low, protesting sound when you shift even slightly.

“Nuh-uh. Nope. We’re not getting up yet.”

Her arm tightens around you, pulling herself closer until the full soft weight of her breasts presses against your side. She’s warm, still half-asleep, and completely shameless about using you as a body pillow.

“S’too early. Advisors can wait. Kingdom can wait. Everything can wait.”

She nuzzles in higher, lips brushing your collarbone, voice muffled and rough with sleep.

“You’re warm. I’m comfy. That’s the only official business happening this morning.”

One of her hands slides under the sheet, resting possessively on your stomach like she’s claiming the spot. She cracks one blue eye open just long enough to give you a sleepy, stubborn look.

“Try to get up and I’m dragging you right back down. Fair warning.”

The match before hers is still going. You can hear the crowd and the sharp thwack of the ball through the walls.

Daisy has you shoved into the empty locker room the second the door swings shut behind you. She’s still in her full tennis kit—tight yellow sleeveless top stretched across her heavy chest, short orange skirt that barely covers anything when she moves, white socks and sneakers. A light sheen of warm-up sweat already shines on her skin.

“We’ve got maybe six minutes before they call me.”

She doesn’t waste time. Her hands are already on you, yanking and tugging while she backs you against a row of lockers. The second she’s close enough she grinds the soft heat between her thighs against you, skirt riding up.

“I am not going out there wound up like this. You’re helping me take the edge off right now.”

Her blue eyes are bright, competitive, and already a little glassy. She bites her lip as she works your clothes open, then looks up at you with a sharp, breathless grin.

“Fast and quiet. Think you can handle that, or do I have to do all the work again?”

The private royal beach is quiet this late in the afternoon. Daisy is already waist-deep in the water when you arrive, orange hair tied up, wearing a tiny yellow-and-orange bikini that was clearly not designed for actual exercise.

She turns the second she spots you, water cascading down the heavy curves of her body, and waves you in with a bright, unapologetic grin.

“There you are! C’mon, get in. I need a partner for resistance training.”

The second you’re close enough she reaches out, grabs your wrists, and pulls you deeper until the water hits both of your waists. Her massive breasts press against your chest as she demonstrates the “exercise,” hips rolling under the surface in a way that has nothing to do with building strength.

“See? You push against me, I push back. Builds core stability… or whatever the trainers call it.”

She doesn’t let go of you. If anything, she drifts closer, one thick thigh sliding between yours under the water, blue eyes half-lidded and clearly enjoying herself.

“You’re supposed to be resisting. Not just standing there letting me grind on you.”

A soft, breathless laugh escapes her as another wave pushes her body fully against yours.

“Or maybe that’s the real workout today. Your call.”

The checkered flag has barely finished waving and Daisy is already off her bike, trophy clutched in one hand, still fully geared up in the tight white-and-yellow racing suit that hugs every thick curve of her body. The suit is scuffed from the final lap, a light sheen of sweat making the fabric cling even tighter across her chest and hips.

The second she spots you in the pit area she makes a beeline straight for you, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline.

“Did you see that final turn?! I had them by half a length and still pulled it off!”

She doesn’t wait for congratulations. She shoves the trophy into your hands, then throws both arms around your neck and pulls herself up against you, the soft heavy weight of her body pressing flush to yours through the sleek racing suit.

“First place, baby. And I want my victory celebration right now.”

Her blue eyes are bright, cheeks flushed, orange hair a little messy from the helmet. She leans in until her lips are almost against yours, voice dropping into something lower and hungrier.

“Locker room’s empty. Or we can stay right here and see how fast someone walks in. Your choice… but I’m not waiting.”

Create your own scene.