Here we have a gentle forniphilia story because I feel like people with more "hardcore" kinks can often only find hardcore stories. Some people with those kinks probably want gentle and mutually respectful stories. There's no actual sex in this one. Still rated M because it's definitely entirely sexual, just no actual sex.

CONTENT WARNING: Forniphilia themed. Nudity. No actual sex.

Mulan walked in through the front door and hung her long overcoat on its hook, slipping her sandals off and nudging them aside with her toe. She sighed and stretched her arms above her head as she walked through the palace's front greeting room and to the more intimate and secluded parlor where Shang was waiting for her. It had been a long day working hard in-

Really it hadn't been a long day working at all. There hadn't been any real unrest for weeks and Shang and Mulan mostly made ceremonial appearances and met with dignitaries to exchange pleasantries. But the pretension was that it had been a long day of hard work for Mulan and she was looking foward to a cozy dinner with her loving husband Shang. Making the dinner together had been the first part of their night of sensuality. They had servants, of course, and the servants would have done a better job, but half the fun was forming the dumplings with her hands over Shang's as she showed him how and feeling her breast press into his side as the leaned over the pot and stirred. Also, the servants weren't naked when they cooked.

With a little purr of comfort, Mulan untied her robe. It fell open, exposing her chest in the crack. She sat down on the ornate chair she rarely used. Usually she and Chang ate on the floor. They had a fancy table for occasions and entertaining, but it felt strange to sit suspended above the ground. The bamboo mat was more than satisfactory for them. But this romantic interlude required her to put her feet on the table.

Shang's skin tightened when Mulan's bare feet rested on the small of his back. Some nights they snuggled together in bed and just delighted in each other's presence. Some nights they coupled in expected and old-fashioned ways. But some nights Shang wanted to express not only love, but the extremes of his devotion. Mulan wasn't just his beloved wife and the most beautiful woman in the world. She was everything to him, so much so that he was enslaved to her every desire. He wanted to not only please her but serve her completely. As long as he lived, Mulan would have need of nothing. Whatever she wanted he would be. He would be anything, even the very table she laid her feet on.

Mulan's ankles weighed on Shang's bare back. All of Shang was bare, because furniture didn't wear clothes. There was a sublime simplicity in being Mulan's table. Shang felt useful, as most men like to feel. He had not only a purpose but a noble purpose. Mulan deserved a very good table. And that purpose took up every bit of him, clearing his mind of distractions and letting him focus on how much he loved Mulan and how completely he was detemined to serve her. Mulan could be comfortable and at rest and at the same time be near him.

"I love this table," Mulan said. She slid one foot down Shang's back to between his shoulder blades. "My husband was so good to get it for me."

I am a good husband! Shang thought. He tensed up and it took all his willpower not to move, as would be very unbecoming for a table. I am a good table and Mulan deserves it. The soft skin of her feet, a part of her so seemingly unexceptional but delicately intimate in their naked vulnerability, was soft against his rough man-skin.

Heat bloomed on Shang's skin when Mulan set the bowl of dumplings and broth on his back. She took a moment to settle it on the table's uneven surface. He felt light pressure come and go as she leaned over to take one dumpling after another. Her smooth legs slid along his back as along with her movements.

When the dumplings were all eaten, Mulan leaned back on the couch and stretched her arms over her head. She stretched them out to either side and draped them lazily over the sides of the couch as she lounged. She angled herself with her legs pointed toward Shang's head and cocked one leg over the arm of the couch. Her satiny robe slid down her leg and Shang's loins stirred as her unclad crotch was revealed.

"Time for tea," Mulan chirped after a moment of relaxation. Her robe slid across Shang's leg like a butterfly's wings as she swept into the kitchen. She came back with a small black pot and a simple stone cup. She poured herself a cup of tea and as she tipped the pot back, a few drops of hot tea spilled out. Specks of not unbearable pain, like little pinpricks that could become serious but never would because Mulan was too protective, lit up on Shang's skin.

Mulan let out a gentle yelp and hastily set the pot down. She jumped up and ran back to the kitchen. She returned with a dish towel and dabbed at the spots.

"That's better. I need to take good care of this table. It was a gift from my husband," she said. Her hands stroked down his back and gently came to rest. She sat like that for a minute, savoring the simple skin-to-skin contact with the man she loved.

"I'm just going to rest a while now," Mulan said. She leaned back again and put her legs back up on Shang, who was pleased that he could provide a comfortable resting place for her. He would stay like that all night long if Mulan wanted it. He was a dependable and useful table. His skin tightened at the heat, both from Mulan's legs and from his desire.

"And then in a bit I'm going to have dessert," Mulan added breezily. That was when it was hardest for Shang to stay still, because while he may have been the table, he was also the dessert.