“I was young and innocent when I met the Prince and genuinely believed our marriage would be a fairy tale,” Princess Amelia tells her newfound confidant. “Sadly, reality didn’t match my dream.”
“What went wrong?”
“The age gap between us for a start, plus his affairs with married women.” There it is – first-hand confirmation of rumours that have circulated for years. Princess Amelia adopts her trademark coquettish expression, chin lowered, dark eyes gazing up winsomely. The charity CEO is tall and intelligent; unlike her philandering husband, who, despite his self-delusion, is neither. She likes that he isn’t cowed by her social status and listens attentively to her ideas.
Oliver, the recipient of this charm offensive, is not immune to Princess Amelia’s fragrant allure. Blonde, slender, and tall – a constant annoyance to the average-height Prince – with a smile that lights the room. Seated opposite him, Amelia leans forward, knees chastely together, fitted skirt emphasising the curve of her hips, cleavage disconcertingly visible.
He, as befits a summons to the Palace, wears his best suit and polished brogues. A few years after Amelia’s senior and radiating an aura of masculine confidence, Oliver calmly considers the famous woman opposite, the public’s favourite royal family member. No dilettante, Amelia has been a hands-on patron of his charity for years and initiated this current project. Requiring, he’s beginning to suspect, rather more face-to-face meetings in her office than is strictly necessary.
Very much the modern face of monarchy, Amelia has dispensed with bodyguards and ladies in waiting, employing only an old school chum as P.A. Consequently, the two are on their own and won’t be disturbed, no matter what.
Rising to his feet, Oliver decides to wrap things up for the day.
“Excellent, plenty for me to be getting to grips with pending our next session,” he concludes, formally. “Anything else I can help you with, Ma’am?” Languorously Amelia rises from the chair and stands close to him, very close.
“You could,” she suggests flirtatiously, “kiss me goodbye.”
Before he’s time to protest she leans in and puts her lips to his, lithe figure pressing against his toned torso. The Princess, it turns out, is very good at smooching, perhaps explaining why Oliver doesn’t step back from the embrace, make his excuses, and leave. Radiating sexuality Amelia moulds her divine body to his until, unsure of the social protocol in such a situation, Oliver reluctantly detaches from the faux-innocent seductress.
“So, if that’s all…” he ventures.
“Do you like my figure?” enquires Amelia, in a husky voice, ignoring his query and posing her own. Sensing the question as rhetorical, Oliver simply nods in affirmation. “I always thought my bum should be smaller,” Amelia’s manicured fingers stroke firm buttocks. “Boobs larger,” she cups them by way of illustration. Oliver’s resolution to conduct himself professionally comes to naught. He seizes the moment.
“Let’s examine the empirical evidence,” he suggests, undoing buttons to reveal Amelia’s pert bosom. Lowers her lacy bra and gently squeezes each breast, taking the erect nipples in turn into his mouth. Amelia tosses back her head, face flushed and breathing heavily, moaning in rapturous response.
“Oh God, my tits are so sensitive, I could come simply from you touching them.”
“Pity I must be on my way then,” announces Oliver, briskly extricating himself, picking up his briefcase, and making for the door, leaving the pouting Princess unsatisfied. “Same time next week, Ma’am.”
At the follow-up meeting, neither refers to the encounter, instead, they get straight down to charitable business and work assiduously for an hour. During this time, Amelia frequently crosses her legs, skirt riding up to tease Oliver with glimpses of nylon-clad thighs, this display is no accident, boundaries are being mischievously pushed; temptation placed in his path.
“Right, I think we’re done.” After an uncomfortable eternity trying hard not to stare, Oliver concludes the afternoon’s work.
“You haven’t asked if there’s anything else you might do for me?” Amelia responds slyly.
“No need, I already know,” replies Oliver crisply. “Starting with taking you to task for that shameless exhibitionism.” Before she can resist, he manhandles Amelia face down across his lap, lifts her skirt, and proceeds to spank the astonished Princess. Taken by surprise, Amelia yelps and squirms, yet tellingly makes no effort to escape. Emboldened by this acquiescence, Oliver tugs down knickers and tights to bare her bottom and smacks it pink, ignoring Amelia’s spirited wriggles and token protests. Despite a smarting rear, electric surges of sexual excitement course through her lower body, and when he eventually stops the dewy evidence of arousal is visible between the Princess’s enticingly parted legs.
“Don’t you dare leave me frustrated again,” Amelia pleads. Oliver obliges her craving for sexual satisfaction, dexterous digits tracing slick labia while his thumb circles her engorged clit. Dignity relinquished, pussy gaping, Amelia’s hips jerk animatedly, surrendering to his benign dominance, lost to pleasure.
“Yes, yes, fuck yes!” Heavens, such indelicate language from an aristocrat, the Princess has well and truly come. She smiles conspiratorially, sliding onto her knees. “And since one good turn deserves another, a BJ to rock your world…”
“A kind offer I must, unfortunately, decline,” Oliver politely demurs, “I’ll see myself out.”
“Bastard,” mutters Amelia petulantly, to the now empty room.
There’s a palpable sexual tension in the air from the moment Oliver enters the familiar office for his final audience. Amelia’s attire differs significantly from her usual fashion-plate appearance. Summer dress, flat shoes, and did he but know, no knickers. No inhibitions either, the girl is going for broke.
Neither makes the slightest pretext of completing the day’s designated task. Her hands are immediately upon him, lips locking, a contrast to their first tentative kiss barely a fortnight before. Amelia flops backward onto the sofa, pulling Oliver on top of her, and frees an impressive erection.
In too much of a hurry to indulge in even the most perfunctory foreplay, she lewdly spreads her legs and guides him into her already wet pussy. Despite the unseemly rush, it’s not lost on Oliver that he’s entering the velvet vagina of the most famous woman in Europe. And goodness, the former debutante is more than ready to receive his throbbing cock. Her eyes widen as he pulls back, then thrusts forward, again and again.
Oliver struggles to keep pace as the Princess vigorously responds, urging him even deeper. For someone who was a virgin when marrying the Prince, she’s an amazing fuck. Writhing sensuously beneath him, Amelia lifts her knees, and slides up and down his shaft, gasping to a noisy climax. This is down-and-dirty sex, impetuous, passionate, and all too soon concluded. Not even attempting to hold back, Oliver greets her orgasm with his own powerful climax.
A carnal romp watched, heard, and recorded by Amelia’s PA, Verity. Honestly, the Princess can be so naive at times. Did she really think there was any such thing as privacy for someone with so high a public profile? Not that she’ll be reporting this latest escapade to the security services. No way, behold Verity’s pension plan, tabloid newspaper fodder for the future.
This is the third time Amelia has shamelessly employed this trick to ensnare a commoner she fancies. Verity can’t blame her; she’d do him too, given the chance. She clicks the replay button and slides a hand into her panties to enjoy the moment again. A perk of the job.
