With his face

The ground is hard and flat. You need something with... accommodation. "Lie on your back for me."

The prince blinks for a moment's hesitation before doing as instructed. "As you wish," he replies, supine across the cape lain before you. As expected, his face presents a fine seat of its own.

"I'd prefer to sit right here," you say as you hike up the satin skirt of your costume, pink gossamer folds shimmering in the low light of the secluded corner. Stepping over the Prince, you proceed to kneel right above his head, catching a glimpse of his slack-jawed expression before your thighs come down on top of it.

"M'la-" He's cut off by your rear pressing upon his face, and you see his hands start to fidget. The squirming of his fine jaw beneath your panties makes for a pleasant place to rest.

You wiggle your hips as you settle in, feeling his heated, fitful breaths wash over your nethers. He sounds like he's trying to say something for a moment, but your hands planted firmly on his chest encourage him to use his mouth in other ways. As his noises turn to grunts of purpose, you feel him oblige.

The Prince begins lapping at your panties, the thin fabric quickly getting soaked from both sides. You moan in approval from above, and grind against his mouth, face flushed with excitement as you keep glancing up in case anyone rounds the corner to see the two of you. Luckily it seems the party is in full swing elsewhere. You bite your lip, knowing you have the Prince all to yourself.

"Oh, M'lord..." you moan. He starts getting enthusiastic in his efforts, tongue dancing over the outline of your sopping pussy. You find it just as eloquent between your legs as anywhere, arching your back as you dig your nails into his shirt. He gives a fervent moan as his licking reaches just the right pace to send you over the edge.

A gasp escapes your yawning lips as your thighs grip his head tight, body rocking atop him. His tongue tends to you through a thrilling orgasm, leaving you panting, smearing your sex over his princely face. Aftershocks compel you to hop off him sporadically, granting him easier breaths, but as you spot his manhood standing at attention in his trousers you find yourself **** to stop there.